Memento
by Individually Packaged
Summary: Harry returns to Hogwarts as an Auror, to solve the issue of Dementor infiltration. But when he can't conjure a Patronus, he asks none other than the Potions Master, Draco Malfoy, for help. Harry/Draco. Complete!
1. Chapter One

**AN:** We disclaim any ownership of _Harry Potter_. This story is post-Hogwarts and takes place three years after the end of the War.

Please enjoy the story!

* * *

Chapter One

Hogsmeade Village had hardly changed in the three years since Harry Potter had attended Hogwarts. Stepping upon the hardened, crisp snow reminded him of all the Hogsmeade weekends he had enjoyed with Ron and Hermione. Harry had to smile faintly at the postcard picture of the cozy village.

"Harry, wait up!" Ron called behind him. "Bloody snow," he heard Ron shiver. "I like the raids that happen indoors much better."

"Well, if you're so cold, why don't you hurry up?" Harry turned briefly to glance at his rosy-cheeked friend and Auror partner. The Ministry of Magic had stationed a squad of Aurors, Harry and Ron included, at Hogsmeade after another Dementor sighting. Typical, thought Harry, that the Ministry would still putter around, coughing and wheezing, not getting anything done right, even after Voldemort was gone. A pack of Dementors had attacked the little village not more than six months ago and a squad of Aurors had driven them away, but the creatures had returned with a ferocity that surprised even the Ministry. And now here were Harry and Ron, called into the new squad that would attempt to chase them away. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister, had a word with the squad, telling them that time was not an issue. "Take half a bloody year," he had said, "but get it done this time."

"I've never seen anything like it," Harry murmured as Ron caught up with him. "They're here yesterday and the next day they disappear." He remembered the Dementors in his third year, which had guarded Hogwarts closely in the aftermath of Sirius' escape, staying in place for days. But these were Dementors released from Azkaban by the Ministry itself, which had not foreseen the terrible consequence of releasing monsters who need constant feeding into the Wizarding world.

"I guess they're in hiding," Ron commented. "Strange. I'm surprised they're not rushing at us and trying to suck out our souls."

Harry continued to walk through the picturesque Hogsmeade, passing by Honeydukes and Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. He glanced out into a field that was covered in feathery snow, left unhardened as no one dared to walk to the Shrieking Shack, stooping at the top of a hill. Harry clutched his wand tighter as he noted a faint mist creeping out from the cracks of the Shack. Suddenly alert, he hurried toward the Shack, just as Ron became aware of his abrupt demeanor and struggled to keep up.

Harry had only dashed a few feet into the musty, cold room when he found himself face to face with a Dementor. Its skeleton body, shrouded in a putrid black cloak, did not fail to scare him, as it had done the first time he'd encountered the foul being. He sucked in a shaky breath, laced with the chill of wintriness. The Dementor opened its long mouth, sucking in the only happy memories that had sprung to Harry's mind in preparation for the Patronus Charm. He tried to remember memories at Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione, despite the unnerving black hole that was feeding on his happiest recollections. Harry found himself remembering the expression on Fred Weasley's face, laughter at a joke he'd just made, stilled as death struck him and froze his smiling lips in place. The rows of dead and dying upon the floor of the Great Hall—the streaks of blood upon Snape's face as he lay on the filthy floor of the Shrieking Shack—the young, crumpled body of Colin Creevey—and finally—

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry shouted. The moment the words left his mouth, he knew the spell was powerless. The tip of his wand emitted a tiny puff of mist and did nothing else. The Dementor's mouth hovered closer, becoming oval and long, splitting the face in two halves.

Then suddenly, another figure burst into the Shack behind Harry and without much hesitation, screamed, "_Expecto Patronum!_" producing a Jack Russell terrier that drove back the creature. The Dementor howled and plunged into the secret passage which led to the Whomping Willow, followed by Ron's terrier. Harry turned to his friend, smiling weakly at him.

"Blimey," Ron started, huffing slightly from his run. "I guess those things _are_ hiding. And here I thought we'd just drop by and Patronus them away in a couple of hours."

Harry nodded. "We should let the rest of the Aurors know that we've spotted one."

But even as he and Ron made their way to the other side of Hogsmeade, where the other Aurors were hunting for Dementors, Harry couldn't help but feel troubled. Since mastering the Patronus Charm in his third year, he had hardly ever had trouble in being able to produce it. Sure, he had gruesome memories of the Second Wizarding War—as it was now called—but he must still have some happy memories that would push past the ghastly ones. At least, he thought so.

"Hey, Ron?" Harry asked tentatively. "You didn't have any problems with your Patronus, did you? You thought of a happy memory and it worked?"

Ron gave him a strange look. "Well, yeah, mate. That's how it works, right?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "Just wondering."

"I mean, I thought of some bad memories too," Ron continued, "but the moment I saw that thing, the Charm just rolled off the tongue. Not much thought."

Ron looked as though he wanted to question Harry further, but they were nearing the Auror squad and Harry's face had closed, shutting off any more possible discussion. Harry realized that telling Ron or the Aurors about his difficulties could result in him being taken off the squad. Being on a mission to drive off Dementors and being unable to produce a Patronus were two things that did not go hand in hand. Besides, Harry thought, this may have been a one-time thing. Given more time, Harry may have just as easily produced that Patronus.

"Any news?" John Dawlish asked as Harry and Ron approached. The man had aged following the War, and despite several encounters in which he was Cornelius Fudge's bodyguard and otherwise attempted to incapacitate Dumbledore, Dawlish remained an important Auror in the Ministry of Magic and the leader of this mission.

"We found a Dementor in the Shrieking Shack," Harry said grimly. "Ron cast a Patronus to drive it away and the creature headed through the passageway to the Whomping Willow."

Dawlish pursed his lips. "The Dementors may be closer to Hogwarts than to Hogsmeade then, especially if more are hiding in the Shrieking Shack."

Ron spoke up, "They might not even be after Hogsmeade. I mean, Hogwarts is filled to the brim with young, happy kids. What more could the Dementors want?"

The rest of the Aurors looked at Ron appraisingly. John Dawlish smiled dismally. "Good point, Weasley. The Dementors are most likely just prowling around Hogsmeade because they can't find a way into Hogwarts. It's the school that'll be in deeper danger."

While Dawlish was considering a course of action, Harry was lost in his thoughts again. He decided that if they went to Hogwarts, he would attempt his Patronus without Dementors to regain his ability. Or rather, to try again, as he was sure that the ability was still there.

"Alright," Dawlish interrupted his thoughts. "We're going to Hogwarts. Shacklebolt is probably right. The last thing we need is a sloppy mission like the one six months ago. We'll take as much time as we need."

* * *

The moment the Aurors arrived at Hogwarts, they realized that an upheaval had just occurred. Students were running madly about the first floor, most of them coming out of the passages from the Dungeons. Many had soaking robes and some were attempting drying spells upon their books and belongings. As no professors were nearby, Harry grabbed the nearest student, a young Slytherin girl, perhaps in second year, and asked her what was going on.

While a look of recognition flashed upon her face, she nonetheless trembled and stuttered out, "The Dungeons—I don't know how it happened—water everywhere—all my stuff—" and she could say nothing more. Harry glanced at the other Aurors and it appeared that they'd decided to see the damage for themselves. He and Ron followed, glancing at one another with looks of surprise and apprehension.

The hallways before the Dungeons were flooded with murky water and it appeared that it was still coming in streams from deep in the Dungeons. Just then, Professor Flitwick appeared from the Slytherin common room, shaking his small head and muttering to himself.

"Professor Flitwick!" Harry called. The short man was startled out of a reverie and smiled gloomily at Harry and Ron, eyeing the other Aurors with suspicion.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," he squeaked. "What a pleasant surprise! Quite unfortunate timing, but—"

Ron interrupted him, "What happened here, Professor?"

Professor Flitwick looked bleaker still at the question. His mustache twitched as he said, "It appears as though the Gryffindors have pulled a prank on the Slytherins by caving in the Dungeons. I always believed those rooms to be too close to the lake, and there I go, being proven correct." But he looked anything but happy at being proven right.

"Surely you could just patch it up?" Harry prompted. A school full of very capable professors should be able to fix this in an instant.

Flitwick looked no less grim. "Of course, of course. It's the meaning behind the hoax that has me worried. I found students from my own House rejoicing in the act, and those from Hufflepuff as well. This seems to have been a school-wide attack on the Slytherins."

Ron and Harry snorted, believing nothing to be wrong if the Slytherins finally got what they deserved. Flitwick wished them a good day and went on his way. Dawlish then approached Harry and spoke, "Potter, I believe that you should extend our circumstances to the Headmistress and explain our stay here. I realize you have greater connection with her than most of us."

Harry nodded, realizing that a break from his thoughts of Dementors and the downstairs commotion might be beneficial. He gave Ron a smile and nodded at the other Aurors, before turning and heading toward the gargoyle at the Headmistress' office. He found himself amused at the flooding of the Dungeons, wondering how the rest of the Houses had pulled it off. He'd never known that the lake was that close to the Slytherins' quarters.

The gargoyle in front of the staircase peered at him. Harry suddenly realized that he didn't know the new password. Last time he'd seen the gargoyle, it was sprawled on the floor, broken in pieces. He shook himself to suppress thoughts from the Battle at Hogwarts.

"Potter!" He heard the distinct voice of McGonagall behind him. "What are you standing there for?"

Harry smiled. "Well, there's a bit to explain, actually."

"Very well," she said, then turned to the gargoyle and said, "Pumpkin treacle." Immediately, the gargoyle let them pass up the staircase. McGonagall and Harry treaded up the stairs, their cloaks billowing behind them. When Harry was finally seated in the armchair before the Headmistress' office desk, he finally began his explanation. He told her about their Auror mission and how it had now moved to Hogwarts, and how in all likelihood, it would take longer than a few weeks to solve.

"As you know, Potter," McGonagall began, "You are all welcome to stay at Hogwarts and find a solution to this problem. Especially if it involves danger toward our students. You say the Dementor was on its way to the Whomping Willow?"

"We can only suppose that the Dementors are hiding because they can't directly enter Hogwarts. I'm sure the danger is small. We just have to drive them away, that's all." Though he said this nonchalantly, nothing kept the crawl of fear at his neck that he could not defend himself with a Patronus any longer.

"Very well, Potter, you may all settle in the professors' sleeping quarters. I must leave you to attend to an ill-timed hoax upon the Slytherin Dungeons. I'm sure that by now you've heard," she said tartly as she stood up. She shook her head as she headed toward the door, muttering, "I'm almost ashamed to call myself a Gryffindor."

Harry glanced at the portraits of the Headmasters and Headmistresses, arranged upon the walls, and caught Dumbledore's eye, who never ceased to give him a feeling of comfort and nostalgia. Then, he looked for the portrait of Snape, whom he still regarded with a note of animosity and pride. Nothing could erase the seven years of hatred that Snape had put him through; but nothing could also erase Snape's life memories which Harry had watched before offering himself up to Voldemort. The unreturned love of Lily Evans and the lifelong pursuit Snape took to keep Harry alive, just to fulfill Lily's last wish. But Harry couldn't find the portrait of Snape. Among the many figures that winked at him, he couldn't catch sight of the telltale greasy black hair and blank, cold eyes.

"Professor McGonagall," Harry started, just as the Headmistress was stepping through the door. She glanced back at him with impatience, prompting, "Yes?"

"Where's Snape's portrait?" Harry asked, unsure why this mattered so much to him.

"He was never given one," McGonagall answered shortly. "There was much controversy of Snape's allegiance following the War. Now if you'll excuse, I really must attend to the Dungeons." She left without another word.

Controversy about his allegiance? Harry thought, affronted. It was questionable up until the Battle of Hogwarts, but Snape had died in vain, giving Harry Dumbledore's last instructions as to how to end the blasted War. Snape had remained Dumbledore's spy until his death and the little recognition he was given posthumously was gnawing at Harry's conscience.

After leaving the office, Harry told the Aurors about McGonagall's approval and their sleeping quarters. Night was already descending upon Hogwarts and Harry was both mentally and physically exhausted. Ron seemed to have forgotten their short conversation about Dementors and asked no more about it, but as Harry fussed around his four-poster bed, unpacking the few belongings he'd brought, the Dementors were the only things on his mind. Harry paused, drew his wand, and gathered up his thoughts. He tried to remember his parents as they looked in the Mirror of Erised, tried to see their smiling faces, but all that came to mind were the ghost memories that had come out of the Resurrection Stone on his way to the Forbidden Forrest, on his way to die at Voldemort's hand. He then remembered the bright green light of the Killing Curse as Voldemort claimed his life.

Harry cursed under his breath, seeing that this only lead to morbid thoughts, and tried again. He remembered the faces of Lupin and Tonks, enamored with their child Teddy, and the way they'd embraced as a family. But invariably these thoughts dredged up the faces of Lupin and Tonks, dead on the floor of the Great Hall, so still and calm that one might misguidedly think they were sleeping; and Teddy growing up without either parent—

"Dammit!" Harry cursed again. He realized that any happy thought he recollected would be overshadowed by memories of the War. He had had no problems like this in other Auror duties because no other spell required that the caster be happy. Harry dropped onto the four-poster bed and placed his head in his hands, digging through his messy hair. This was just getting worse, Harry thought. But he didn't know of any way, magical or otherwise, to dig up the happy memories without letting the War stamp them out. He blew out the candles by his bedside and crawled into bed, leaving his glasses and wand by the nightstand. He lay awake for a long time, sifting through the recollections of War, and the defenselessness he now felt when thinking about Dementors.

Toward dawn he had fallen into a fitful sleep, but not before a single thought crossed his mind, as weightless and wispy as morning fog.

_Felix Felicis._

* * *

Harry awoke with the pressing need to speak with Horace Slughorn, the current Potions Master of Hogwarts. He dressed quickly and had breakfast with the other Aurors in the Great Hall, exchanging a few words with Ron but otherwise not letting him know about his sudden desperate plan. He then descended into the Dungeons and approached the door to the Potions classroom. It was still early, so there would be no students yet. He attempted to compose himself and remembered that Slughorn would surely accept him, believing he had been so great at Potions.

But as Harry opened the door to the classroom, another figure emerged from the room, slamming straight into Harry. Harry was knocked off balance for a moment, then stared at whom he'd run into.

"I see that in three years, you still haven't learned to walk properly," came the drawl. Malfoy was clutching his head, wincing, and glaring at Harry through slit gray eyes. Harry looked momentarily surprised to see him, but a more urgent dilemma forced him to ignore Malfoy.

Despite a nagging feeling at the back of his head, Harry pushed past Malfoy to stride into the room. Malfoy just strolled back into the classroom and scowled at Harry. "What do you want, Potter? Returned to Hogwarts for some cheerful memories? I don't think you had too many of _those_ in this classroom."

"I don't have the time to deal with you, Malfoy," Harry muttered, then glanced around the dimly lit room impatiently. He noticed that the Dungeons were still recovering from yesterday's hoax. It appeared that though the room was in some order, many of the potion ingredients were missing and the jars broken. Harry finally asked, "Where's Slughorn? I need to speak with the Potions Master."

"Slughorn is no longer the Potions Master," Malfoy replied coolly.

Harry paused and stared at him for a moment. "Oh, and you expect me to believe that _you _are?"

Malfoy gave him a pointed look and crossed his arms. Harry raised his eyebrows, realizing that he was serious.

"I don't believe that in the three years since Hogwarts ended you were appointed as the Potions Master," Harry muttered. "What, they couldn't find anyone else?"

Malfoy's eyes immediately flashed in rage. "How is that unbelievable? Longbottom got the Herbology job—"

"He's twice the wizard you'll ever be! He deserves that job more than anyone else." Harry paused, wondering why he hadn't heard about this. He hadn't even seen Malfoy eating at the staff table, where Harry had eaten this morning. If Malfoy had really been there, Harry must have really been out of it. "I don't suppose you've done anything else remarkable since school?"

Malfoy glared. "I suppose someone who's constantly on the Daily Prophet with headlines like, 'Harry Potter Defeats a Gang of Werewolves in Cornwall' and 'Harry Potter Vanquishes a Banshee in Durham' would only expect the same from everyone else?"

Harry shrugged. "I just haven't heard anything about you." In fact, he had barely given Malfoy a single thought since the War ended. He was a little surprised that Malfoy had paid such close attention to the news.

"So why are you here?" Malfoy finally redirected the conversation, his voice drawling again. "If you needed the Potions Master so badly, you really showed it. Brushing past me and insulting me like that."

Harry had the decency to turn a little pink. He had expected to simply ask Slughorn about the potion and be on his merry way to defeating the Dementors. Now that he knew Malfoy was the Potions Master, things would be a little more complicated. He wasn't even sure if Malfoy would help him now.

"I, er… need a potion," Harry began. "I thought maybe you'd have an extra stock of it. I just need a vial or so."

Malfoy rolled his eyes impatiently. "Well, what potion is it? I don't have all day, Potter. I do have a job, as we've just established."

Harry glanced at the work benches and cauldrons, unwilling to stare at Malfoy and face his reaction. "I need _Felix Felicis_."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy drop his arms and give him an incredulous look. "You're not serious. _Liquid luck_? Haven't you had enough luck in your life already, Potter?"

This only angered Harry, whose frustrations after a sleepless, desperate night had been building. "Are you saying it's luck that all my life, I had to watch my friends get killed? Year after year, face that bastard, and barely escape alive? I don't need this potion so I can have a perfect day lounging in the sun with my cares thrown to the wind! I need this because it's my only option!"

Malfoy sneered at him. "I honestly don't give a damn about your life struggles, Potter. In case you haven't noticed, the Dungeons got flooded yesterday because of _your_ precious Gryffindors! All my potion supplies—destroyed. You Gryffindors are so brave, making a mess and leaving it to the adults to clean up."

"I had nothing to do with that prank," Harry replied angrily. "But I can't say I feel sorry for you, Slytherins, always getting everything handed to you on a silver platter. And for once you get put in your place—I can't really feel the remorse."

"_For once!_" Malfoy echoed, his hand fisting around his wand. "If you knew anything about the way this school has changed, you'd know this wasn't a onetime thing. This has been going on for months. You Gryffindors just can't accept that the War is over and people have repented. You have to dig at us until we have no more pride—"

Harry, whose rage had been building into more argument, was immediately stumped by this. His tense body suddenly unwound and he scowled. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Malfoy."

But Malfoy didn't look like he was going to explain. He muttered, "Figures," and composed himself, calming down and plastering on that cold and blank mask that was trademark of Snape. "I'm not giving you that potion, Potter. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. As I said, all my supplies and ingredients have been destroyed by the flood and I'm sure you know that Felix Felicis requires some rare materials."

Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but Malfoy cut him off, "My students will be here shortly. Consider yourself dismissed."

_Dismissed_, Harry thought. Like a house-elf or a student. Giving Malfoy the most disgusted glare he could muster, Harry left the classroom, slamming the door behind him. Harry wasn't entirely sure what to do now. He felt so confident that Slughorn would help him, but now that Malfoy was the Potions Master, their bickering wouldn't stop even if the Dementors had invaded Hogwarts itself.

Harry considered his options again. He could talk to Ron, who most likely wouldn't understand him. He could tell the Aurors, but Dawlish would be impatient and look at him as though Harry didn't know how to tie his own shoes. Then Harry thought of the one person he'd really like to talk to, who would've known exactly what to say and do…who was gone.

Remus Lupin. The one who'd taught him to cast a Patronus to begin with.

Sorrow washed over Harry, but he ignored it and continued down the hall, winding his way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, getting an idea. He was sure that he could still produce the Charm. He just needed to try again, but in the company of a Dementor. And there was only one thing that could mimic a Dementor, short of facing a real one.

A boggart.

* * *

Thanks for reading! All feedback is welcome!


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Harry pulled a dusty, ragged cloak off the rattling trunk in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The moment he'd stridden into the room, the creature had woken and begun clattering against the sides of the trunk, waiting to be released. He realized how lucky he'd even been to find it here; Lupin's hands-on methods had been more unorthodox for the rest of Hogwarts' DADA professors.

Harry had closed all the doors and windows in the room, realizing that if he failed, the boggart would escape into the castle and perhaps scare a first year who didn't even know what the creature was. Then Harry thought of a happy moment—winning the Quidditch Cup for the first time—and undid the clasps of the trunk. If he let himself think any longer, the other memories would return as well.

The boggart slid out slowly, its form a ragged, filthy cloak enveloping the skeletal body. A glistening, bony arm emerged from the cloak, reaching toward Harry, and a rattling breath, sucking through an unidentifiable hole in its face, punctured the silence. Then Harry felt the inescapable cold freeze up his body. Harry thought of the memory and raised his wand—

"_Expecto Patronum!_" he shouted. "_Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum—"_

He felt his head swim with other shouts, the voice of his mother crying to keep Harry from Voldemort, her voice pleading, "_No, take me! Please, kill me instead—not Harry—_"

And the cold, unfeeling voice of Voldemort responding, "_Step aside, silly girl!_ _You can't protect him!_"

Harry sensed that he was falling, the cold pressing into his lungs, and felt as though he was drowning and unable to reach the edge of consciousness. The shouts of his mother enveloped him, as if echoing in an empty hallway.

He didn't know how long he had been out, but when Harry came to, the boggart had snuck back into the trunk, probably bored with Harry's motionless form. Before it could sense that Harry had woken, he snapped the trunk shut and did the clasps. He had a pounding headache and a feeling of hollowness. The cracks between the closed window drapes revealed no rays of sunlight: Darkness had descended upon Hogwarts. Harry took out a chocolate frog he had hidden in his cloak pocket and slowly bit off a corner. But he felt no better.

So this was it. He really couldn't do it. He had faced a fake Dementor, a real Dementor, and no Dementor at all. And the silvery stag he expected each time failed to emerge out of his wand. Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, and left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, closing the door with a soft _click_. He returned to his sleeping quarters, readied for sleep, and soundlessly slipped into the cold bed. He was drained of emotion yet still could not sleep.

In his fitful dreams, he could only think of one thing.

Malfoy _had_ to help him.

* * *

The next morning, Harry had only intended to take a single bite of breakfast and leave in search of Malfoy—who was not at the staff table—but before he could do so, McGonagall had risen at the head of the staff table. She clinked her goblet to make an announcement. The four House tables reluctantly ceased their conversations and turned to face the staff.

"If I may have everyone's attention," McGonagall began. "Please welcome the guests we will be housing in the next several weeks. They are Aurors from the Ministry of Magic, here to investigate the Dementor problem I'm sure many of you have already heard of."

The Aurors stood up during the announcement, and Harry could feel many pairs of eyes upon him. Hushed conversations began again and many of their gazes lingered even after they had sat back down. Finally, Harry tired of their glances and left the Great Hall to search for Malfoy.

It was Saturday, so there were no classes. Still, the Potions classroom was the first place he looked. He glanced about the dimly-lit classroom but found no one. He remembered when Dumbledore and he had visited Slughorn's home to persuade him to return to Hogwarts and found him in the shape of a very convincing armchair. Harry amused himself with the idea of Malfoy turning into a plush cream chair just to avoid him. As he looked around, the missing ingredients and broken potion vials that had still not been cleaned up surprised him; surely, Malfoy would have replaced them by now?

Harry proceeded to look about the Dungeons, wondering within its hallways, when he spotted the door to what he recalled was Snape's potion collection. He opened the creaky door and peered within.

Sure enough, Malfoy was reaching up to the top shelf to grab a potion when Harry caught him unawares, causing him to drop the vial. The glass broke against the cobblestone floor and Malfoy threw Harry a dirty look.

"Is this going to be a daily occurrence, Potter?" He scowled, pulling out his wand to fix the vial and restore its contents. "Since you've returned to Hogwarts, I can't find a moment to myself anymore."

Harry walked fully into the little room, closing the door behind him. He noticed that Malfoy's stringy blond hair was messier than usual. Malfoy placed the vial on a little desk tucked into a corner between the shelves and turned toward Harry, his arms folded.

"What do you want now?" he asked. "And don't even ask about the Felix Felicis. I already told you no."

Harry glanced about the dingy little room, unsure how to start, now that Malfoy refused again. "It looks like you already have some of your potion ingredients back."

Malfoy shrugged. "Well, I need to teach, don't I? Besides, I only restored the few things that were salvageable. The rest I still have to hunt around for."

"Why were most not salvageable?" Harry asked curiously. As long as Malfoy was willing to have a civil conversation, Harry might actually get somewhere.

Malfoy rolled his eyes as though he considered the answer self-evident. "Most ingredients have magical properties that get tainted in that kind of a flood. Take puffer fish eyes, for instance—those need to be handled carefully to begin with. The moment they hit the filthy floor, you can't use them. That's why so many ingredients are stored in special liquids, to preserve them."

"Well, if you're missing ingredients, why can't you put in an order of new supplies, or something?" Harry asked, attempting to lead the conversation.

Malfoy snorted. "Like it's that easy. The Potions funds have been dwindling for years now, especially after the war," his voice became bitter. "The Slytherin House has lost so much respect—no one trusts a former pack of Death Eater suppoters. We're treated like the scum on the shoes of the other Houses. And the Malfoy name is just a joke nowadays. I'm lucky to have even gotten this position, as you so kindly pointed out yesterday," Malfoy glared at him for a moment, then continued. "Anyway, the potion ingredients I need for my classes—those I can get through an order. But they don't take me seriously enough to provide some of the more expensive ingredients. They seem to think we deserved this prank."

Harry was surprised at the bitterness in Malfoy's voice. He hadn't realized the extent of the damage to the Dungeons until now. Before he could speak, Malfoy gave him a very piercing look, and continued, "Which is exactly why I can't help you. I don't have any ingredients in stock for such a difficult potion as _liquid luck_. Much less do I have the time."

Harry took a deep breath. It was obvious that beating around the bush was not going anywhere. "Malfoy, I don't know how to stress this enough, but— I really need this potion. I left yesterday thinking I could come up with some other solution. That maybe I could fix the problem myself." He paused to shake his head. "I have no options. I can't even tell anyone—"

"Potter, you're talking in circles," Malfoy snapped. "What do you need this potion so much for? It doesn't sound like you're just going to have a field day with it."

Harry placed his hands in his pant pockets and looked up at the grimy ceiling to avoid looking into Malfoy's sharp eyes. "You're right. I need this because…" He held his breath, certain that if this was the Malfoy from three years ago, he would burst into laughter at Harry's next words.

"Because I can't cast a Patronus anymore."

For a moment, Malfoy looked completely thrown. His eyebrows knit together in what seemed to be an expression of misunderstanding.

"You can't cast a Patronus?" he finally asked. "Why would you even need to produce a Patronus?"

Harry gave him a look of utter disbelief. "Why do you think? Haven't you noticed that this school is surrounded by Dementors? They've come in from Hogsmeade, and are in the passages between the Whomping Willow and Shrieking Shack, and our squad is here to—"

But by now, Harry noted that Malfoy looked truly lost. Harry slowly asked, "Are you—are you even aware why I'm here?"

Malfoy shrugged, his pale cheeks turning a little pinker. "To be honest, I just thought you came back to walk through the school again. See how everything was going. I didn't know you were here on Auror business. I suppose those Dementors _are_ getting out of hand…" He paused to glance at the half-empty shelves. "I guess I've been so preoccupied with that flood. I hadn't even thought of anything else."

"And you weren't there for McGonagall's announcement this morning," Harry muttered to himself.

Silence hung between them for a moment, then Malfoy smirked at him. "So you can't cast a Patronus anymore? Such a shame. I remember those days in third year when you fainted at the mere mention of a Dementor."

Harry scowled at him. "That's really not the support I was looking for. Besides, you're the only person I've even talked to about this."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "You haven't even told Granger or her Weasel boyfriend?"

"No," Harry said tersely, ignoring the jabs.

Malfoy absentmindedly ran a hand over his hair, as though attempting to smooth it down. "And you think that Felix Felicis will help you cast it?"

"I thought it would help me remember some of my happier memories," Harry said. "Every time I try to cast it, whether in front of a real Dementor or imagined, I only remember things from the War and my mum screaming—"

"I already told you I don't want to know about your life stories," Malfoy interrupted impatiently. He began pacing about the tiny room, looking deep in thought. His robes rose behind his hasty steps, his face contorted in concentration.

"I could help you," Harry suddenly said.

"What?" Malfoy said, irritated at the interruption in his thoughts.

Harry stepped in front of Malfoy before he could continue pacing and got his attention. "You said you'd have to look for the ingredients yourself to do this potion. Could you find them around Hogwarts, maybe in the Forbidden Forrest or near the lake?"

"Of course," Malfoy said, looking as though that question was pointless. "I know several of the ingredients—Doxy eggs, red bat ears—they wouldn't be too difficult to find."

Harry beamed. "Then why don't I help you look for them?" He paused and then continued, "Maybe help you brew the potion itself?"

Malfoy looked at him sharply. "Are you suggesting we gather the ingredients ourselves? Hunt for red bats and cut off their ears? Wait for them to dry and use them for a potion?" The underlying question was unasked. _You don't think that's a tad _barbaric_?_

Despite the challenge in Malfoy's voice, Harry nodded. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting. Our Auror team is stationed here for as long as it takes to drive away the Dementors." His voice darkened, "We don't even know where they're hiding or how many there are."

Malfoy just pursed his lips, ignoring Harry's dark tone. "Even if this could be done, even if we could gather up all the ingredients and brew the potion—_why would I even want to help you?_"

Harry stiffened and felt his insides knot. And here he'd thought that Malfoy was seriously considering doing this for him. How could he have forgotten the years of animosity, pranks, and name-calling? Despite growing older, Malfoy had grown no less cold toward him.

Then Harry suddenly smiled at Malfoy, finding the answer.

"Because I saved your life."

Malfoy stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. It was obvious that he knew what Harry was talking about. At the Battle of Hogwarts, when Harry and his friends had been looking for the final Horcrux in the Room of Requirement, Crabbe had started a Fiendfyre in the room, nearly killing all six of them—Crabbe, in fact, had died there. And when Malfoy was whimpering in a corner of the room, unable to save himself, Harry had swept down toward him on a broomstick and flown them out of the collapsing room. His friends had saved Goyle in the same manner. Malfoy truly owed his present existence to Harry's unwillingness to let him die such a pointless death.

"I suppose you did," Malfoy finally said. He looked torn between wanting to thank Harry and clouting him for reminding him of it. "That's one thing I will never live down."

Harry continued to smile. "Great! So you must be willing to help me, then?"

Malfoy paused and got a closer look at him. Harry could just imagine what he looked like. Despite the temporary smile, he must've looked like he was haunted. His sleepless eyes had dark marks underneath, which the circular glasses couldn't hide, and his hair looked as though it hadn't even been combed this morning. His robes were hastily thrown on and his face appeared thinner than usual.

Malfoy rolled his eyes in frustration, and said, "Well, bloody hell, Potter. Fine!" In a quieter voice, he muttered, "What else have I got to lose in this school? Certainly not my reputation."

Harry looked like he was bursting with joy, as though he might even hug Malfoy out of gratitude. "I never thought I'd say this, but—thanks, Malfoy."

Malfoy snorted. "Not to rain on your parade, but this isn't going to be a cakewalk. If you're really serious about looking for all the ingredients ourselves, it's going to take a month or two just to find everything. Some of them have to be harvested at the full moon, for example. Others will just take a while to find. I don't even know how long the potion itself takes to brew."

At these words, Harry deflated a little. "Well, whatever it takes. This really is the only option I can think of."

"Why don't you want to tell the Aurors about your little problem?" Malfoy asked curiously. If the two were going to work together on this potion, they might as well be more cordial to each other.

Harry balked. "They'd throw me off the mission. I just finished my training not long ago, and Dawlish—our squad leader—isn't the type of guy who's impressed with me just for being Harry Potter. He wouldn't keep me here if I was useless. And Ron… he wouldn't understand. He produced _his_ Patronus just fine." The hint of jealousy in his words was unmistakable.

"Well, then I suppose if we're really going to do this," Malfoy started, "I'm going to need to contact Slughorn."

"What for? I thought you'd just look up the potion in a book."

Malfoy smirked. "Potter, you're still as thickheaded as I remember. Slughorn has practically mastered this potion. We need his expertise if we're going to do such a complicated potion. If we brew it wrong, we'd waste months of time and ingredients we can't afford to lose, _and_ could possibly poison you."

Harry shuddered at the thought. He had never really attempted a potion that was over his head before and was glad that Malfoy was thinking of these things. "Alright, when do we start?"

"Eager, aren't we?" Malfoy muttered, then considered, "I suppose we should contact Slughorn as soon as possible, find out the general guidelines to the potion, and start hunting for the ingredients tomorrow. I think some of the items I've salvaged may also come in handy."

Malfoy then turned to the little desk in the corner of the room, where he'd left the vial, and picked it up. "Now, before anything else, I still haven't had my breakfast, because I was so rudely interrupted in my morning routine," Malfoy glared at Harry.

"Morning routine?" Harry asked.

Malfoy paid him no attention as he uncapped the vial to scoop some goo out of it. He then proceeded to rub it into his hair and smooth it back. His hair obeyed instantly and no tendril fell out of place.

"What's that?" Harry asked, distracted. He had never really wondered how Malfoy's hair always seemed perfectly smoothed back.

Malfoy turned a little pink. "It's er…Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Very useful, as you can see. I'd advise you to look into it, but I'm afraid nothing will subdue your mop."

Harry didn't take much offense to that. He instead asked, "Why don't you have the potion in your sleeping quarters, then?"

Malfoy sighed, putting the capped vial into his cloak pocket. "As much as I don't want to blame everything on that flood—I lost my current supply when the water washed it out of my room and spoiled the contents. Thankfully, the supply in here wasn't badly damaged. I'll have to brew another batch soon. God knows I can't walk around with something like _that_," he glanced at Harry's hair.

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing that Malfoy's insults were probably subconscious by now. Malfoy was striding toward the door when Harry stopped him, and asked, "What am I supposed to do while you're having breakfast? I'd really like to get started."

Malfoy looked about the room, spotted a large volume entitled _Advanced Magicke Potions_, and handed it to Harry. "Page 425, I believe." He immediately left the room without another word.

Harry turned to the page Malfoy had indicated and scanned the list of ingredients and directions. What he saw made the color drain out of his face.

When Malfoy had said it wouldn't be a cakewalk, he wasn't kidding.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading! All feedback is welcome!


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Harry had thought he'd be used to seeing the suspended green head of a person in a fireplace, especially after using it as a regular means of communication between Aurors, but the sight still made his stomach clench.

"Ah, Harry, Draco," Slughorn's head now said jovially. "How good to see you two again. Everything well at Hogwarts, I presume?"

Malfoy and Harry were seated by the fireplace in Harry's sleeping quarters, looking into the green fire caused by Floo powder. "All's well," Malfoy said dismissively. "Professor Slughorn, if we could have a moment of your time. Potter and I are attempting to brew a certain potion, and we're wondering if you could help us."

Slughorn's translucent green face became even more joyful. "I'd be absolutely delighted. Such bright minds you two have for Potions! It still amazes me. Well, carry on."

Harry picked up the conversation. "Well, you see, Professor, this potion is a little advanced and we just wanted some professional guidance before attempting it. Maybe some tips as to the brewing process."

"Gladly," Slughorn said. "But I don't have much time to dawdle. What potion are we talking about?"

"Felix Felicis, sir," Malfoy intoned.

Slughorn's eyebrows knit slightly though he didn't outwardly frown. "That's quite a complicated potion to brew. Whatever reason you must have for brewing it must be an important one."

Malfoy exchanged glances with Harry, as though asking how much they should reveal. Harry turned to Slughorn's peering face. "Yes, it is. I'm planning to take it to complete a rather difficult mission."

"Ah, very well," Slughorn said, sensing the tenseness and closure in Harry's voice. "I must warn you though, this potion, even when brewed correctly, has certain side effects if taken too often. This mission of yours should be completed rather quickly. If you take the potion for several consecutive days, you will become reckless and may endanger rather than help yourself. You may attempt things well above your ability."

Harry's heart sank at hearing this. If the effects of the potion wore off after a day, he would _have_ to take it again in order to drive away the Dementors again. The Dementors would not stay away just because he Patronus-ed them away once. Still, it was the only idea he had at the moment.

"That's fine, Professor," Harry finally said. "I'll do the best I can to avoid taking it more than once."

Slughorn nodded happily. "Very well. I'm sure you've already glanced at the list of ingredients and directions. The length of time to brew the potion—is that an inconvenience? I presume this mission of yours is a whiles away?"

"Er…" Harry said. "Exactly how long does it take to brew?" He hadn't seen any length of time written upon the page in Malfoy's book.

"Six months," Slughorn replied promptly.

Harry's eyes widened perceptibly. He opened his mouth and for several seconds, couldn't say anything. "S-six months? I don't have six damn months!" He had presumed two months at most. Someone would surely recognize that Harry was having difficulty with his Patronus in six months.

"Yes, my boy," Slughorn said evenly, although he looked surprised at Harry's reaction. "I thought we'd already established that this was a difficult potion. Time is partly the reason this potion is so complicated. Haven't you looked at the directions? They state instructions like, 'Keep solution frozen for three weeks until it becomes green in color.'"

Harry pursed his lips. Now he understood why Malfoy had said he doesn't have the time for such a potion. He glanced at Malfoy, who only looked at him expectantly, as though asking if he was still up for the challenge. "I think six months will be fine," he reluctantly told Slughorn.

Slughorn looked at him concernedly. "Well, now that we've discussed these things, I have some suggestions for you as to the brewing process. I realize the potion asks for a cup of sweetwater, but I find that honeywater is more effective. It gives you more potency but does sacrifice the amount of potion you can take at one time. The effects of recklessness become stronger, so that choice is up to you."

Malfoy had begun writing these suggestions down on a piece of parchment in an elegant, cursive script. "Honeywater is also more common," he said absentmindedly.

Slughorn's lips stretched into a smile. "Very good, Draco! Yes, honeywater is more easily accessible. The other ingredients, I'm afraid, would lose their magical properties if exchanged with others. That's why you must follow the other directions as precisely as possible. This potion will require your utmost attention. One extra clockwise stir or an extra toe of toad's foot could end up killing you, Harry."

Harry was reminded of Malfoy's warning, that the wrong brew could poison him. He suppressed a shudder and wondered for the tenth time if this was his best option. After all the doubts he harbored, he decided that it would have to be. "Thanks, Professor. We'll do our best."

Slughorn pursed his lips and looked deep in thought. He finally said, "I believe that's all the advice I have for you today. I've brewed this potion twice and have avoided injuring myself. I have faith that you'll do the same." He gave them an encouraging smile.

Harry smiled back while Malfoy continued to scribble things down. "Thank you, Professor Slughorn. We'll contact you if we need anything else."

"I welcome your questions!" Slughorn said, then his head turned toward the back of the fireplace, as though he'd heard another voice on his side. "Very well, I must leave you. Good luck!"

Then the green head in the fireplace disappeared, leaving only cold, black ashes on the hearth.

"Well, that's a good start," Malfoy said, finishing his scribbles. "I'll look through my storeroom to see if I can find some honeywater and some of the more common ingredients. Then tomorrow we'll start looking for some…" he glanced at the list of ingredients in the book. "Porcupine quills and snake fangs."

Harry looked at the list of ingredients in the volume, trying to memorize them in case he found one by accident.

**For the Brew of **_**Felix Felicis**_**, Obtain:**

_5 porcupine quills_

_10 puffer fish eyes_

_2 non-venomous snake fangs_

_2 scarab beetles_

_20 dragonfly wings_

_3 twigs from a Whomping Willow_

_2 dried and crushed red bat ears_

_3 toad's feet (obtained at the Full Moon)_

_1 ginger root_

_1 cup powdered goosegrass_

_½ cup leech juice_

_¼ cup elderflower wine_

_1 Doxy egg_

_1 powdered moonstone_

_1 cup sweetwater_

Harry let out a deep breath. "Well, this will take some time to gather."

Malfoy just gave him an irritated look. "Which is why I was hesitant to do this in the first place. I think I have some Elderflower wine and a moonstone in storage. The ingredients that involve animals—those we'll have to find and extract ourselves."

Harry glanced at the list; the more he thought about the materials, the more disgusted he became. They'd have to handle real leeches and puffer fish, crush the leeches into juice and gouge out the fish's eyes. He never realized how easy the potions in Snape's class were compared to this. The ingredients were given to them, the animals already dead, their respective parts already extracted. He sighed and pushed the thoughts away. The more he reflected upon it, the less he'd be inclined to brew the potion. And that wasn't an option.

"I'm heading to my classroom to find some reference books," Malfoy suddenly announced, getting up from the carpeted floor. Harry was yanked out of his thoughts. He got up as well, picking up the Potions volume.

"You don't mind if I follow along?" Harry asked, thinking he had nothing else to do anyway. And he really wanted to get started on getting the ingredients. If just brewing the potion would take six months, they needed to get the ingredients quickly. He might as well get comfortable at Hogwarts, Harry thought dully.

Malfoy shrugged. "You might be useful."

They left the sleeping quarters and strode through the hallways toward the Potions classroom. The hallways were mostly empty. It was probably a Hogsmeade weekend, Harry considered. He felt strange walking through the school again, not heading toward classes nor doing homework. He felt like a spectator, an outsider, and that almost made him wish he were back as a student. He missed the good times he'd had with Ron and Hermione, memories that were untainted by Voldemort's return.

They rounded the corner and reached the classroom, when Harry noticed that a fourth or fifth year student was standing by the door, looking fidgety and holding a parchment quite tensely. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed the symbol of a lion upon his cloak—he was a Gryffindor. As the two approached him, the student gave Malfoy a tight-lipped smile, and upon seeing Harry, his face lit up like Christmas lights.

"Mr. Harry Potter," he said reverently. He extended his hand, "Euan Abercrombie, sir. Pleased to meet you."

Harry smiled and shook the boy's hand. "Pleased to meet you too, Euan."

Malfoy simply raised his eyebrows at the student. He said nothing and simply strode into the Potions classroom. Harry and the student walked in behind him.

Malfoy began looking through his reference manuals when the student approached him, parchment in hand. Malfoy glanced at him and finally asked, "What's the matter, Abercrombie? Something wrong with your last paper?"

The student immediately demanded, "Professor, why did I not receive full marks for this essay? I did everything you asked."

Malfoy paused in his search for reference books and snatched the student's paper to give it a quick once-over. After a pause, he began, "Well, Abercrombie, I should think the answer would be obvious. Your task was to write about the components of antidotes as compared to poisons and how they might be brewed. This," he indicated the parchment, "is trash. You merely mentioned that a bezoar can be used for all poisons and left it at that. I wanted a bit less sarcasm and more critical thinking."

The student's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. "I heard that Mr. Potter once used a bezoar to save his best friend from a poisoned drink. That seemed to have worked just fine."

Malfoy's eyes briefly met Harry's across the room. Both recalled that it was Malfoy himself who had concocted that particular poison. "Well, Mr. Potter doesn't know about all types of poisons, now does he?"

The boy was as offended as if he was Harry himself. "I'm sure that even if _he_ had written that paper, you wouldn't think it was good enough! You know, when Snape was the Potions Master, he was unfair toward all non-Slytherins just like you! That bastard got exactly what he deserved as You-Know-Who's right hand—and you, Malfoy, you should have gotten the same! It's bollocks! Just because you're a stupid git who changes sides right when he's about to be thrown into Azkaban!"

Harry was shell-shocked. He had never, in his entire life, heard a student insult a teacher with such irreverence and hatred. Even _he_ had had some respect for Snape as a professor. To hear a fellow Gryffindor slander Snape's name as though he had done nothing for the cause during the War only enraged Harry. The pride he had for the Gryffindor House deflated a bit.

But if Malfoy was just as infuriated, he didn't show it. He simply handed the parchment back to the student and betrayed no emotion as he said, "Detention. Two months."

The student looked disappointed not to have gotten a rise out of Malfoy, but merely grabbed his paper and stormed out of the room. On his way out, he gave Harry a conspiratorial wink, as if the two were on the same side of the argument. Harry just felt more disgusted with him. After the boy left, slamming the door loudly behind him, Harry quietly approached Malfoy, who was still looking through the books, though distractedly now.

Harry was unsure what to say for a moment. The words the boy uttered were ones Harry himself might have said years ago. But now that he'd seen the two sides of the War—had seen Snape's memories and Malfoy's helpless gaze in the burning Room of Requirement, he'd realized that not all Slytherins were to blame for the war.

Tentatively, Harry asked, "Why did you let him say those things without fighting back?"

Malfoy looked up at him. "_Why_? I don't know, Potter—because I'm tired of arguing my case? This isn't the first time Abercrombie has cussed me out—for Merlin's sake, don't look so surprised—and I'm not willing to stoop down to his level and give him the pleasure of getting angry. Besides, giving him detention is much more satisfying." He paused and looked thoughtful, "In fact, I might even make him gather some of our potion ingredients."

Harry was still not convinced by Malfoy's argument. "So what, you let this one student walk all over you even though you're his teacher?"

"Oh, he's not the only one who's out of line," Malfoy said unconcernedly. "Plenty of your Gryffindor buddies have told me exactly what they think about the Slytherins returning to Hogwarts after the massacre here."

"Plenty?" Harry echoed. "Don't they know what happened? Don't they know that Snape helped me defeat Voldemort—that he was Dumbledore's messenger and died giving me instructions on how to kill Voldemort?"

Malfoy winced slightly at the multiple mentions of Voldemort's name, but maintained his composure. "You're forgetting, Potter, that these students are young and impressionable. Their families were most likely destroyed by the War: Many of them resent the former Death Eaters for killing their parents or siblings. They have a reason to be angry." His voice darkened. "But they certainly don't have a reason to be angry at Slytherins. Especially the younger Slytherins who had nothing to do with the War."

"So this is why they attempted to destroy the Dungeons," Harry finally understood. "It wasn't just a harmless prank, was it?"

Malfoy's voice sounded tired. "No, it wasn't. They've been egging the Slytherins on for months now. Up until the Dungeons incident, they've been somewhat harmless. They've been using the Weasleys' wizarding wheezes, or whatever those monstrosities are called, and setting up fireworks or slipping puking pastilles and fainting fancies into the Slytherins' goblets. The problem with those is that they require an antidote, which the Gryffindors by any means aren't inclined to give us. Madame Pomfrey and I have been quite busy fixing up the Slytherin students."

Now that Harry took a closer look at Malfoy, he realized that the latter had aged, at least as much as was possible at twenty years of age. His face was leaner and paler, his gray eyes lackluster, and his robes baggier than necessary. Harry hadn't realized how much the War had affected Malfoy. The way the Gryffindors were vengeful toward the Slytherins surprised Harry even more. He had never sympathized with the Slytherins before, but he was finding himself doing so now.

"Is it just the Gryffindors that are wreaking all the havoc?" Harry asked.

Malfoy was looking through his books as he answered, "No. I've overheard that many of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are swearing up a storm about the Slytherins too. They're just less zealous—less _brave_, should I say—" He gave Harry a sardonic look, "—to start anything themselves. So they're riding on the coattails of the Gryffindors' pranks."

"No one's doing anything about this? The professors—"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Give it a break, Potter. Since when have teachers butted in on some harmless House rivalry? At least, that's what they are seeing. Even McGonagall doesn't think there's anything wrong. Some of the teachers are actually joining in on the fun."

"What?" Harry asked, surprised. "Who would do that?"

Malfoy was copying something down on his parchment. "It's really just one bloke. He's from Hufflepuff. You probably don't know him."

Harry was absorbed in thought about this dilemma, but before he could consider it too deeply, Malfoy shut his books, gathered up his parchments and said, "Well, I think we're done for today. I'll take a look at my storage supplies and tomorrow we'll get started. I think we'll begin by getting some porcupine quills and snake fangs from the Forbidden Forrest."

Harry smirked at Malfoy. "So you finally got over your phobia of the Forbidden Forrest?"

Malfoy looked as though he remembered their first year detention, when they had to go into the Forrest with Hagrid to inspect the disappearing unicorn blood. "I wouldn't be talking about phobias, Potter. I suspect your current fear of Dementors is a little more powerful at the moment than my past eleven-year-old fear of the Forbidden Forrest."

Harry immediately ceased smiling, remembering why they were making the Felix Felicis to begin with. "Fair enough. I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose."

Malfoy didn't even acknowledge his departure, merely gathering up his belongings. Harry left the Dungeons, making his way to the Great Hall for lunch or dinner, whichever was being served. He had lost track of time in talking with Malfoy and Slughorn about the potion. He found Ron at the staff table and struck up a conversation with him, all the while shoveling mashed potatoes and pork chops onto his plate.

"So what've you been up to the past few days?" Ron asked, his mouth full of food.

Harry was equally hungry as he gulped down his pumpkin juice. The last few stressful days and sleepless nights due to his inability to deal with the Dementors seemed behind him now that he and Malfoy would concoct a potion to bring up his happier memories. "Well, I've been looking around the castle, seeing what's changed. Have you heard about the damage to the Dungeons because of that flood? All the potion supplies were apparently ruined."

Ron snorted. "I say those gits deserved to have their precious Dungeons ruined. That lot of Death Eaters finally got what was coming to them."

Harry paused while gnawing on his pork chops and set them down on the plate. "Well, I know they haven't been our best friends during the War, but some have done their part to help our cause. Besides, the younger Slytherins had nothing to do with the War."

"I'm sure they would've helped out the Death Eaters if they had been there. Slytherins are all alike, mate. They're all nothing but dishonest, treacherous bastards." Ron conveyed his point by setting his goblet down loudly.

"Isn't that a little unreasonable, Ron? What about Snape?" Harry asked, his dinner now completely out of mind.

"What _about_ Snape?" Ron shot back, not quite fighting with Harry, but appearing surprised that he sympathized with the Slytherins. "I don't know how you've blocked out all the years of humiliation and misery we had in Potions, but Snape wasn't always the great guy you seem to think he was."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. Besides, fighting with Ron was like hitting a brick wall. No matter how he tried to approach the situation, his point would never be made across. "I guess I was just surprised by the bad shape of the Dungeons, that's all," Harry finally said. Then deciding to change the subject he asked, "Hey, what's Dawlish doing about the Dementors?"

Ron continued slobbering up his food, accepting the change of subject. "Seems like we're just waiting it out. The Dementors are getting hungry, but they're afraid of us using our Patronuses, so they're just hiding out now, most likely. Dawlish thinks they might attack again, but only when they get desperate."

Harry nodded, also believing that to be the case. After finishing his dinner, he went to his sleeping quarters, unsure of how else to occupy his time. Most of his previous Auror missions had been quick, lasting days at the most. This particular mission seemed like it would last months, especially if he and Malfoy were going to finish the Felix Felicis potion.

The idea of him and Malfoy working together amused Harry. He would be surprised if they didn't hex each other at some point in their search for potion ingredients or during the potion-brewing itself, but he had to admit that he was a little curious about the way Malfoy had changed after the War, hardened toward the rest of the hateful Houses, and become adept at potion-brewing. Harry hadn't really given much thought as to the whereabouts or happenings of Malfoy after the War and hadn't heard anyone mention him either. In fact, the only thought he had given Malfoy concerned the object he had used to defeat Voldemort.

Harry crossed the room to his trunk, and rummaged around until he pulled out the hawthorn wand. He observed it for a moment, unable to believe that this object belonged to Draco Malfoy, the previous owner of both the hawthorn and Elder wands. Now, of course, the Elder wand was destroyed, but the hawthorn wand was still intact, lying in Harry's palms.

Harry placed the hawthorn wand on his nightstand, alongside his own, intending to return the object the next time he saw Malfoy.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! All comments are appreciated!


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The next morning, as Harry was eating and conversing with Ron at the staff table, Malfoy approached them and slipped into the seat next to Harry's. Though Ron momentarily ceased speaking, Malfoy acted as though nothing was amiss and continued scooping scrambled eggs into his plate. Harry couldn't help but be amused by the look on Ron's face.

"What's wrong, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, without looking at him. "Not used to Gryffindors and Slytherins sharing a table? There's always a seat open with the students, if you're going to act like one of them."

Ron looked into his plate, clutching his fork with tenseness. "Great to see you too, Malfoy," he muttered, before shoveling more biscuits onto his plate.

Malfoy was unconcerned by the sarcasm as he proceeded to eat his food. He paused to address Harry, "Down to my right, that's the Hufflepuff professor I was telling you about. He looks pretty young, possibly in his thirties, dark blond hair—"

"I see him," Harry interrupted. "What's he teach?"

"Transfiguration."

Harry was startled. "Isn't that McGonagall's job?"

"Well, McGonagall has a lot on her plate as headmistress, so Malcolm Whitby took over for her. He's pretty experienced, from what I've seen." Malfoy said this as though he'd actually watched him transfigure.

"And how are you so skilled at knowing what good transfiguration looks like?" Harry asked, unconvinced. He'd always thought that Malfoy just knew how to brew potions.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "If I wasn't the Potions Master, I'd probably apply for the Transfiguration position. I don't know if you remember, Potter, but I was only behind Granger in most of our classes."

Ron immediately jumped up on his girlfriend's name. "What're you saying about Hermione, you git?"

Malfoy shot him a glare across the table. "If you had listened, Weasel, you'd know that I wasn't insulting her. But no sense getting _that_ through your thick skull."

Ron clutched his fork even more tightly. Harry knew that Ron and Hermione had been dating for quite a while now, and the two were as close as ever. Ron in fact must be missing her especially while on this lengthy mission, which would only grate on his nerves even more.

The three ate the rest of their breakfast in silence. Harry continued glancing at Malcolm Whitby, who sat just four seats to Malfoy's right, chatting amiably with Professor Flitwick. Whitby looked quite good-natured, as all Hufflepuffs tended to look. His robes were well-pressed, his hair was combed back properly, and he spoke with his hands frequently. On a particular swing of his arms, he knocked over a goblet of water, which spilled down the table, toward Harry. Whitby raised his eyes to Harry's and immediately grinned.

Harry simply nodded back, unsure how Malfoy could think him unpleasant, especially after such a radiant smile. Then, he heard a scoff from his right side and noticed Malfoy pointing his wand at the mess of water seeping into the tablecloth and cleaning it up without so much as an uttered spell.

Whitby's reaction immediately turned cold. He glared at Malfoy and said, "No need to point out the mess, Malfoy. I would've cleaned it up."

"You could've done it quicker," Malfoy replied shortly. "And most people would just say _thank_ _you_."

Whitby's expression became even more venomous. "And you think _you_ of all people are deserving of gratitude?"

Malfoy glowered at Whitby, but otherwise deemed him unworthy of a response. He instead turned to down his goblet of apple cider and stood from the staff table. Harry, having finished his breakfast as well, followed suit. He told Ron he'd be around the castle and left to follow Malfoy as he stormed out of the Great Hall.

Harry found Malfoy at the stairwell, unfolding a parchment to skim over the list of potion ingredients. Harry glanced at him, noting that his movements were slightly aggressive and his features twisted into a snarl.

"I guess you're right," Harry said. "Whitby seems nice to everybody but Slytherins, especially you."

Malfoy didn't say anything, but it was apparent that he was in some turmoil about Whitby's words. He finally straightened up and merely said, "Well, I suppose we'd better start looking for these things if we're ever going to start that potion."

Harry followed as Malfoy led the way out of the castle, across the grounds, and toward the Forbidden Forrest. The ground was still packed with fresh snow and the sky was a miserable shade of gray. Harry glanced across the surroundings and noticed Hagrid's little cottage, swamped deep in the snow, a little trail of smoke creeping out of the chimney. He kicked himself for having forgotten to visit Hagrid, but told himself to do so as soon as possible. Maybe tomorrow, while Malfoy was busy with class.

"I must admit," Malfoy began, his cheeks rosy with the biting cold. "It's going to be even harder to find some of our ingredients in the snow. Porcupines don't just stroll around the forest in this cold. And snakes tend to hibernate during the winter. Look for burrows and holes, that's the most likely place you'll find snakes."

They walked through the eerily quiet forest, their footprints disrupting the seemingly lifeless and frozen world outside of Hogwarts. Nothing moved through the woods as the tall bare canopy enveloped them. Only the whisper of their robes against the ground and their steps in the crispy snow sounded in the silent forest. The expanse was never-endingly white and unchanging, when Harry suddenly spotted the corner of something poking out of the ground in front of them.

"Could you find snakes hibernating in a log?" Harry asked, as he approached the rotting piece of wood.

"It's worth taking a look." Malfoy drew near the snow-covered log and rolled it on its side with one foot. Nothing happened.

"How about that one?" Harry said, striding through the snow to another rotten log he'd spotted ten or so yards away. Malfoy followed and did the same with this log, rolling it over.

There was the sound of movement in the log as something shifted and hissed. Then, immediately, a black snake slithered out, its smooth body covered in diamond-like scales, reaching perhaps ten feet in length. It slid out of the log entirely and raised its body toward the two, its forked tongue striking against the cold air as if in irritation.

Before either could move, the snake struck at Malfoy's leg, entrenching its fangs into the skin, through the pant fabric. Malfoy immediately cried out, but then bit his tongue against the pain. He forced himself to stand still.

"Potter, grab the snake!" he ordered. "Don't let it get away—we need the fangs—"

Harry had been stock-still up until Malfoy had yelled out, but now moved into action. Losing all queasiness at touching the snake, he grabbed the serpent by its neck and stupefied it using his wand. He gently pulled the snake's fangs out of Malfoy's leg and placed the snake on the ground, assured that it wouldn't run off after he'd spelled it.

Malfoy pulled up his pant leg—the snake had attacked just above his ankle—and examined the wound. Harry noticed that though the lacerations were bleeding, there were no other effects on the skin other than the two puncture marks. Little swelling had occurred and the skin wasn't discolored yet.

"The snake wasn't poisonous," Malfoy muttered, pulling out his wand. He focused on the wound briefly, then a warm glow covered his leg, and the bite marks slowly faded away until they disappeared completely. He pulled down the pant leg after the spell was completed, acting as though nothing unusual had happened.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know you could do such difficult wordless magic. Or even heal yourself, as a matter of fact."

Malfoy just smiled slightly. "There you go again, thinking all I can do is use a cauldron." He then redirected his attention to the large snake lying immobile on the ground. "We'll need to snap off its fangs. It's a good thing it was nonpoisonous—that's the kind we need."

Harry wasn't sure if Malfoy had considered what would've happened if the snake _was_ venomous. Harry personally didn't know how to treat a snake bite, and some venom takes less than a few minutes to infiltrate the blood and fully poison the victim. He hadn't realized how dangerous just gathering these ingredients might be. And they had just gotten started.

Crouching on the ground, Malfoy was slowly opening the snake's mouth and feeling its fangs with his fingertips when Harry joined him. Harry grimaced as Malfoy abruptly ripped a fang out of the snake's mouth, the gruesome snap resounding in the quiet woods. Harry momentarily wondered at the maturity that appeared to grace Malfoy's actions; whenever he'd gotten hurt in the past, he'd simply whined until someone showed him pity and attention. Now he dealt with the pain and fixed it himself. Returning to the task at hand, Harry placed his thumb and forefinger against the remaining fang and without further thought, broke off the curved tooth, releasing a similar _crack_ into the stillness.

Malfoy placed the two fangs into a stringed pouch, which he returned to his cloak pocket. He stood up carefully, balancing on his right foot, the one which had not been bitten.

"Are you still hurt?" Harry asked, finding himself concerned. He needed all the help Malfoy could give him, after all. And if Malfoy became wounded and reluctant to help Harry, he wasn't sure who else he'd turn to.

"I'll be fine," Malfoy brushed it off. "I'm glad we got the snake fangs out of the way. I wouldn't want to go looking for another snake again."

Harry agreed. He brushed some snow off his robes and avoided looking at the fangless, motionless snake at their feet, whose size and coloring reminded him strongly of Nagini. "Now, how are we going to find a porcupine around here? Most animals are probably hibernating underground."

Malfoy shrugged. "Probably. But we don't really have the option of waiting until the spring. We might as well look around the forest until something comes up."

Agreeing to this somewhat careless plan, they wandered through the forest for several hours, their footprints becoming increasingly more impressed into the smooth snow jacket as they walked through certain parts of the woods more than once. They tracked all the edges of the forest facing Hogwarts and much of the inner front as well, before finding their footprints again. As the two walked, they didn't talk much, other than to observe small noises within the tree canopy. Harry was becoming hungry and tired toward the later afternoon, when they had stumbled upon their tracks for the third time. Suddenly, as he watched Malfoy's brooding expression, he was reminded of something he'd planned to give to Malfoy, and pulled the object out of his cloak pocket. He wondered at how the entire thing had slipped out of his mind.

Malfoy was moving rather quickly through the forest, so Harry extended out a hand toward him and tugged upon his cloak.

"Hey, Malfoy—stop for a moment. There's something I need to give you."

Malfoy paused and turned around to face Harry. He raised his eyebrows at him. "What is it?" As he spoke, he breathed out puffs of air, signaling that the temperature was falling as the afternoon drew to a close.

Harry merely extended the hawthorn wand toward him. "This rightfully belongs to you. As you probably know, it was the weapon I used against Voldemort, so thank you. Sorry I didn't give it back a while ago."

Malfoy took the wand and examined it, as though seeing it for the first time. "Yes, I've had to use a replacement since then," he said, more to himself than anything. He inspected it carefully. "Hawthorn with unicorn hair. Ten inches." Then his tone became dry, "It took you three years to remember to give this back? I had to use my mother's wand for a while, before I finally got a replacement."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. It really did slip my mind, until I ran across it while packing for this mission," Harry said sheepishly. "I was really preoccupied after Voldemort fell. I hadn't gone to school for my last year, so I needed to get my NEWTs to get into Auror training. And then the training was pretty rigorous—Anyway, you have it now."

Malfoy just continued staring at his old wand before he finally pocketed it. "Well, in any case, thanks."

Harry looked upward into the canopy. "It looks like it's going to get dark soon. I think we should head back."

Malfoy nodded. "It'll be even harder to spot anything once it gets dark. I guess getting the fangs was the best we could hope for."

They set out toward the front of the woods, heading back to Hogwarts. The silence was more deafening than ever, so much that Harry became uncomfortably stifled within it. He wasn't used to being back at Hogwarts and especially in the constant company of Malfoy, of all people. He'd become accustomed to working in his cubicle at the Ministry or going out on raids with other Aurors, as well as being in constant communication with either Ron or Hermione.

"You know," Harry suddenly began, after about ten minutes of walking through the woods, "I think I've been keeping some of my memories of Hogwarts at the back of my mind since becoming an Auror. I honestly haven't thought too much about how things have been here or what's become of the school."

Malfoy snorted quietly. "Obviously. You probably didn't even know Longbottom had the Herbology job until I mentioned it."

Harry placed his hands in his cloak pockets to warm them up. "Well, I had an idea it might've happened—"

"But you didn't know for sure."

Harry pursed his lips. "Give me some credit. I had a lot on my mind after the War."

"You apparently still do if you can't cast a Patronus." Malfoy was blowing into his fingers to warm them as well. Now that the sun was coming down, the temperature was quickly falling and they weren't dressed in extremely warm clothing—they had no gloves, hats, or scarves.

"I guess I hadn't considered how many memories I was trying to forget. The Dementors reminded me. Of all the people that died. Of all the friends I'd never see again." Harry closed his eyes momentarily, overcome with grief. "I can't forget their still faces, arranged in a row, on the floor of the Great Hall."

Malfoy didn't reply. Harry realized that there was nothing to be said. He needed no response, really, he just wanted someone to hear him. Ron and Hermione were a great support system, but they had gone through the same horrors, and there was no need to bring up the bad memories between the three of them. Malfoy probably had no idea what had really happened at the Battle of Hogwarts. And as long as they were working together, Harry felt that talking to him might even help bring back the Patronus.

"Did you have a problem with your Patronus before you attempted it at Hogwarts?" Malfoy asked after a moment of silence.

Harry looked down at the ground as they walked. "I—I haven't done a Patronus since school ended. I haven't done it in years."

Malfoy almost stopped in his tracks at hearing this, but continued despite his surprise. "You walked into a mission involving Dementors without even practicing your Patronus?"

"Not exactly," Harry sighed, his breath coming out in visible puffs. "I've attempted it just before coming here. But I couldn't produce it. I just blew it off as nerves or sleeplessness. I thought I'd manage it the moment I saw a Dementor."

Malfoy sighed heavily. "Typical, Potter. Only you would undertake a dangerous task so recklessly. It's a good thing you're on a team, or those Dementors would've Kissed you by now."

Harry shuddered, both from the cold and from recalling the Dementors of his third year, surrounding him and Sirius Black, almost extracting their souls. "I know. I was just hoping that there was nothing wrong. I ignored my doubts. I needed this mission to prove my worth to Dawlish."

"Surely _you_ don't need to prove yourself to the Ministry?" Malfoy scoffed.

Harry scowled. "I don't want everything handed to me for the sake of my name. I know you cling to your name like an anchor, but I'd like to be considered for my abilities."

Malfoy stopped abruptly. "That's rich, Potter. You're no better than those Gryffindors that flooded the Dungeons! You all think my name lets me have whatever I want, that it's let me become the Potions Master despite my prior status as Death Eater! I've had to fight for that job, just like I'm still fighting to keep it. And I'm certainly not known for my name anymore. My name isn't worth the dirt at my feet."

Harry was surprised at the outburst, but immediately countered. "I'm really not surprised at the way everyone's treating you. How do you expect anyone to believe that you went from being a Death Eater to someone with even half a soul in three years? That you didn't mean your allegiance to Voldemort? That you're really a decent human being?"

Harry's words had flowed unconsciously, brought back by years of animosity, not considering anything he'd seen in the past few days.

Malfoy's eyes flashed with anger, but his next words were deadly quiet. "Well, you believed it of Snape. How is this any different?"

The words stopped Harry in his tracks. He tried to think of a retort to this, but before he could do so, a scuttling sound came from a tree nearby. He looked into the canopy, attempting to discern anything in the near-darkness. Malfoy appeared to have heard it too, as he walked toward the source of noise.

"What is it?" Harry asked, his voice losing all anger.

Malfoy pointed his wand at the tree and light emanated from it, creating a radius of glow that illuminated the tree trunk. He raised the wand upward until they spotted a porcupine, clinging to the tree and nipping the bark. Malfoy turned toward Harry and raised his eyebrows.

"It looks like it's our lucky day," Malfoy said dryly, his words not betraying the anger he still probably felt. "We'll need to find a way to pluck off five of those spikes."

Harry looked up at the porcupine, which didn't appear overly alarmed at having a light shined in its face, and took out his wand. "_Immobulus!_" he said, pointing the wand at the porcupine.

The creature become rock-still and fell from the tree, landing in the plush snow. Harry crouched down and carefully started to pluck one of the quills out of the porcupine's back. Some of the spikes clustered around the one Harry was attempting to pull out scratched his arms, making him wince. Malfoy crouched next to him, shining the light onto the frozen creature, and began plucking as well. He seemed to be having as much trouble with the quills as Harry was.

"Bloody business, this is," Malfoy muttered. His hands were getting quite scraped.

They finally managed to pull out five of the porcupine's many quills and Malfoy placed them into another pouch in his cloak. Malfoy then healed his arms the same way he had healed his snake bite and reluctantly did the same for Harry. After finishing the spell, Malfoy brushed off some snow from his cloak, and got up to head back. Harry muttered a spell to grant the porcupine mobility again, sympathizing with the poor creature that had just been assaulted.

The two walked back to the castle in silence. The sun had set by the time they'd finally stumbled out of the forest and the moon was peeking over the horizon. Harry was exhausted from spending most of the day in the dark forest and couldn't wait to dine in the Great Hall.

Malfoy wasn't as amicable as earlier this afternoon. Upon reaching the castle, he simply told Harry, "Find me after my classes. I'll be in the Potions room." He promptly headed toward the Dungeons without another word.

Harry headed toward the Great Hall, his head full of thoughts.

Despite the initial bout of friendliness, it appeared that working with Malfoy would still be as hard as he'd thought.

* * *

**A/N**: I hope you liked it. Thanks so much to all those who have reviewed. I appreciate each and every opinion or comment you all have. So don't hesitate to let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter Five

**A/N: **Thanks again for those who've reviewed! As a random note, all the temperatures used in this chapter are in the Fahrenheit system.

Also, I realize that Hagrid's dialogue is difficult to mimic, but I've done my best. :)

* * *

Chapter Five

After breakfast the next morning, Harry decided to visit Hagrid. Upon being reminded of the cottage yesterday, he decided not to delay the visit any longer. Wrapping himself in warm clothing, Harry stepped out of the castle and headed toward the little round hut Hagrid inhabited.

Hagrid answered on the second knock, throwing the wooden door wide open. "Harry! Great to see yeh. Come in, come in."

Harry hurried inside, welcoming the warmth. Hagrid's hut was as homey as ever: The hearth was cradling a cozy fire while a blackened teapot whistled over it.

"Cup of tea, Harry?" Hagrid asked as he reached for the teapot.

Harry sat at the table in the middle of Hagrid's hut, pulling off his red-and-gold scarf. "Sure. It's cold outside."

Hagrid poured the two of them cups of tea and sat down opposite of Harry, his black eyes shining as he beamed at Harry. "Well, what've yeh been up to? I heard yeh and Ron're here on Auror business?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. These Dementors have been giving Hogwarts some trouble. So the Ministry sent us to get the job done."

Hagrid gave Harry a look of appraisal as his smile grew more watery. "Boy, is it great to see yeh, Harry. I remember yeh as a little kid. Tiny tyke, yeh were. An' look at yeh now, all grown an' followin' in yer parents' footsteps. Well, they'd be mighty proud, I bet."

Not knowing how to respond to that, Harry just smiled.

Hagrid took a large gulp of his tea as some liquid spilled into his grizzly beard. "How's Ron? An' our lovely 'ermione? She workin' at the Ministry too?"

Harry nodded. "She's working for the Wizengamot. She's trying to change a couple of laws that favor purebloods. From what I've heard, she's had some success." Harry paused to drink some of his tea. "I'll tell you, it's great to see Ron and Hermione not fighting quite as much. Well, other than the occasional squabbles over Crookshanks and the like."

Hagrid laughed. "Certainly great to see those two happy as they are. What about yeh, Harry? Last I heard, yeh and Ginny weren' talking' so much. Somethin' happen?"

"Oh no, of course not," Harry said. "Ginny's playing Seeker for the Hollyhead Harpies. I've just finished my Auror training and finally got to work with a team not long ago. We decided to part ways for a little while to get into our careers. We're still great friends. And if something happens in the near future… well, at least there won't be a Dark wizard to put a hiatus on our relationship like the last time."

Harry didn't know how to continue, feeling slightly uncomfortable with talking to Hagrid about his relationships. "How about you, Hagrid? Did Madame Maxime ever—"

Hagrid immediately interrupted, his ears turning red. "Er—no, Maxime wasn' really inclined to start anythin'." More quietly, he muttered, "She always denied that she was even a half-giant."

Harry wondered how Hagrid occupied himself these days. He wondered if he'd gotten a new pet—perhaps another acromantula or a three-headed dog. Suddenly, Harry was reminded of something, and looked about the dim room quickly.

"Hagrid, where's Fang?" he asked after being certain he didn't spot the dog.

The reaction he received was startling. Hagrid began sobbing. Large tears dropped over the table and some even went into his tea as Hagrid took out a handkerchief and began dabbing at his eyes and blowing his nose. "Poor Fang…he was…he was such a good dog…"

Harry immediately felt sorry he'd asked the question. "No—don't tell me he—"

"Died!" Hagrid wailed. "Poor mutt gave out jus' a few months ago… after fightin' through the War and such…I thought nothin' could kill 'im."

Harry walked to the other side of the table and patted Hagrid on the back, reminded of the time when Aragog had died. He imagined Hagrid bawling and howling as he buried Fang. It seemed like all the pets Hagrid owned were destined to die or be taken away from him.

After a few moments of this, Hagrid quieted and heaved a great sigh. He then said, "Well, no sense dwellin' on it. So, tell me Harry, how are yeh gonna get rid o' these Dementors?"

Harry wasn't sure what to say. "Well, our team plans on waiting them out first. They're not really doing anything at the moment, just hanging around Hogwarts."

"Yeh be careful, Harry," Hagrid advised, his voice becoming quite serious. "These creatures are intelligent. They don' look like much, but they work together—they plan and they strike when they're ready."

Harry wondered how Hagrid knew so much about them, then realized that Hagrid had gone to Azkaban in Harry's second year, after all the basilisk attacks had caused the Ministry to imprison him. "Of course," he started. "You were around Dementors for a while. You were in Azkaban."

"I was," Hagrid said stoically. "An' they're not creatures I respect, by any means. They'll trick yeh. They'll do anythin' to get food. If they're really waitin' for the right time, Harry, yeh can be sure they're plannin' somethin'."

Harry felt a crawl of fear. The Dementors frightened him enough, without the knowledge that they could be as intelligent as human beings. "Thanks, Hagrid. I'll keep that in mind."

As Hagrid cleared the table and cleaned up their tea cups, Harry was reminded that he should head back to the castle. Malfoy would surely be done with his classes by now.

Harry stood up. "Well, thanks for the tea, Hagrid. I'd best get going."

"Anytime, Harry," Hagrid said jovially. "Jus' think about what I said. Yeh'll need a strategy if yeh plan on beatin' those Dementors."

Harry smiled grimly.

"I'm working on it."

* * *

Harry found Malfoy in the Potions room, just as he'd expected. He also found him speaking with a young Slytherin girl, perhaps a second or third year student, who was chattering in a rather haughty manner. The girl had vibrant red hair reaching down to her shoulders and was holding herself very proudly. Harry's intrusion caused her to turn abruptly and scan him with a pair of scrutinizing amber eyes. Malfoy stayed still and quiet in the back of the room, as though expecting to watch an intriguing conversation.

The girl's eyebrows rose slightly. "So Harry Potter has indeed returned to Hogwarts. You're all the rage among the Gryffindors these days, you know."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her in turn. The girl spoke to him as though she were much older than twelve or thirteen years old. "I'm pleased to meet you…" Harry began, letting his sentence hang.

"Mafalda Prewett," she said, flicking her hair back. "I suppose you wouldn't know me, but I'm related to the Weasleys. One of your friends, isn't he a Weasley?"

Harry looked surprised. "You're a Weasley? In Slytherin?"

"The one and only in Slytherin, from what I've heard," she muttered. "I'm related to the Weasley mother, I believe. My father was a second cousin or such. I'm honestly ashamed of the connection. Bunch of worthless purebloods they are, frolicking with Muggles." She spit out rather than pronounced the word _Muggles_.

Harry's fists immediately clenched. "You've probably never even met them."

"I've seen the youngest one, Ron, around the castle recently. He seemed exactly as I've always suspected—immature, and proud for all the wrong reasons. I'm only glad I haven't met the others." Her gaze was challenging, as though she hoped Harry would get angry and crack.

Harry ignored the challenge after catching Malfoy's eye across the room. The latter had folded his arms and was looking on with amusement. "I don't know if you know, Mafalda, but Ron and I are here on an important mission—to get rid of the Dementors. And I think you should be a little more grateful toward us rather than throw daggers without even getting to know us."

Mafalda's eyes immediately turned to slits. "Here to get rid of the Dementors, are you? I think you're here to belittle us Slytherins. After all, everyone blames _us_ for the Dementors."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised at her accusatory tone.

But she didn't outwardly answer the question. "I'm sure you're going to join in with the Gryffindors and do some more damage to our Common Room," she snarled. "Or set off explosives in our bookbags and ruin our homework. Give us meaningless detention and dock 100 points for every little mistake we make!"

Harry became tired of her vague answers. "What does she mean, Malfoy?"

"Exactly what she says," Malfoy said coldly. "This is what the Gryffindors have done for the past few years, but more recently now with the Dementors descending upon Hogwarts and giving everyone nothing but unhappy thoughts to dwell on. Your precious House teachers and students have been merciless. Mafalda here was just telling me about an unfair punishment Whitby gave her for being unable to conjure a rabbit."

"Conjure?" Harry asked in confusion. "That's sixth year material."

"Precisely," Malfoy hissed. "How can he ask a third year student to do something she wasn't even taught? Not that it's so unusual. Many of my students have failed their OWLs because Whitby has flunked them in Transfiguration."

Harry was reminded of his Potions OWLs, when Snape had attempted to do just that. Still, there was no reason for any self-respecting teacher to go about failing good students. "What was her punishment?" Harry asked curiously.

"Whitby took away her broomstick," Malfoy said simply. "She's not to play the rest of the year."

Harry was caught in admiration and shock. He turned to Mafalda immediately. "You play Quidditch?"

She gave him a dark look. "Yes. Chaser. You'll be glad to know that Gryffindor has gotten the Cup these past three years. Though it doesn't seem like they needed your Seeking skills to do that, Scarhead."

Harry glared at her. "That's no way to talk to an adult."

"Don't tell me what to do!" she retorted. "I've taken enough rubbish from your lot and I won't take any from you just because you're Harry bloody Potter."

Harry ground his teeth but decided to keep quiet. Whoever this girl was, she was obviously a rebellious troublemaker and nothing would soothe her. He glanced at Malfoy, who had been arranging his desk papers in the meantime. Malfoy glanced back at him and seemed to have decided something. He walked over to Mafalda and gave her a thin smile, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Mafalda, I've got some work to do. Rest assured that I'll talk to Whitby and see if I can get him to give you back the broomstick."

The girl sulked but trudged out of the room nonetheless, closing the door with little grace. Malfoy sighed and rubbed his eyes after she left; the show of frustration, especially in front of Harry, surprised him. It seemed like his own students took the energy out of him.

"I don't suppose you have a wetsuit, Potter?" Malfoy asked abruptly.

"Er…no. Should I?"

"It would help." Malfoy strode to a corner of the room and threw open a cabinet door. "We're going into the Black Lake today."

Harry balked. "You must be mad! The water's probably below zero!"

"Ten degrees below, to be precise," Malfoy muttered as he dug through the cabinet. He stopped and turned to examine Harry's profile, looking him up and down. Harry immediately felt uncomfortable with the gaze, but before he could do anything, Malfoy had gone back to sifting through the cabinet. "Seems like I'm a little broader than you, so I'll need to transfigure it."

"Broader?" Harry scowled. "I think we're just about the same size." He and Malfoy were both rather tall and lanky, especially from years of Quidditch that had honed their muscles without adding any bulkiness.

"Really, Potter. I think those Dementors have had an effect on your appetite." Malfoy shook his head sadly, mocking him. "You're not what you used to be."

"I see you haven't gained any weight yourself. I suppose the War has had an effect on your diet too," Harry retorted. "And just _what_ did I used to be?"

Malfoy made a motion to pretend he was thinking. "A tad more attractive, really. That scowl doesn't suit you," Malfoy's smile faded and he said more seriously, "and neither do the bags under your eyes."

Harry was surprised at the abrupt seriousness in his voice. He didn't think Malfoy could possibly be concerned, but that's how he sounded. Harry motioned toward the cabinet. "So, that wetsuit. Can I take a look?"

Malfoy brought out two pairs of green and silver wetsuits, not unlike the kind Harry had used for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. He tossed a pair to Harry, who easily caught it and inspected the material, which appeared to have been spelled to withstand any water.

"And if you keep whining about the cold," Malfoy began, "I'll give you a Warming Spell. It'll make the water seem like thirty degrees or so."

"That's a great improvement," Harry muttered. "I won't freeze _immediately_."

Malfoy examined his wetsuit again, then glanced at Harry. "Well, I guess I won't transfigure yours. We're _somewhat_ close in size, I suppose."

"_Somewhat_?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Anyway, what do you plan to do about breathing underwater?"

"I… uh, thought you might provide that bit," Malfoy said, as though self-conscious that he hadn't planned that part. "You had a task in our fourth year where you had to be underwater, didn't you?"

"Yes," Harry acknowledged. "I used gillyweed."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose slightly. "Gillyweed. I believe I have some in my stores. Obviously it wasn't ruined, being an underwater plant." After a pause, Malfoy suddenly smirked, "Did you think of that all by yourself for the task—gillyweed?"

"Are you implying I can't think up anything on my own?" Harry demanded. "And if you must know—I didn't. I had help from Neville."

Malfoy's smirk widened. "The great Harry Potter, asking for help from an oaf like Longbottom."

"I suppose that won't be the first time then. I'm working with you, aren't I?" Harry grinned. No matter their cordiality, Malfoy's regard toward Harry's friends wouldn't change, it seemed.

Malfoy scowled. Then, gathering his things, he said, "Well, if we're ever going to get those puffer fish and leeches, we'd better get going."

Harry agreed, following after Malfoy.

* * *

The water was indeed freezing. Harry's breath came puffing out as he shivered in the thin wetsuit, his bare feet turning to ice as he stepped in. Malfoy followed behind him, his jaw set against the wintry cold, his expression determined and his cheeks rosy, clutching his wand tightly. Harry noticed that it was the hawthorn and not the replacement.

"M-malfoy, I'll be n-needing that Warming Spell," Harry said between his teeth chattering.

Malfoy nodded and cast it wordlessly on both Harry and himself. Harry immediately felt much warmer, at least relative to the actual cold. They both tied a sack to their waists to store the puffer fish eyes and leeches.

"You'll find the leeches under rocks or in heavy seaweed clumps," Malfoy said. He was trembling slightly, despite the Warming Charm. Harry found himself glancing at his physique, usually hidden by sweaters and robes. The wetsuit was stretched across both their bodies as though a size too small.

"And the puffer fish?" Harry asked as they slipped deeper into the water.

"They're around, r-really. Quite common around here, for whatever reason." Malfoy dug something out of his pocket and handed Harry a pair of very thick gloves. "You'll want to put t-those on. The spikes on the fish could hurt you. Also, hold them by the tail to get a better grip."

"So we need five fish and five to s-six leeches?" Harry asked. The potion required ten puffer fish eyes and half a cup of leech juice.

Malfoy just nodded as the water reached their torsos. He then pulled out the gillyweed and gave Harry half; the two swallowed the mess of seaweed and waited for the transformation. When Harry felt his gills sprouting out, he dove under the surface, breathing in a cold gulp of water. He heard another splash near him and saw Malfoy struggling underwater as his gills opened up. They then grew thin skin over their hands, connecting the fingers, and their feet elongated and became paddle-like. Harry noted Malfoy's blonde hair billowing out under the water, becoming fluid and wispy.

"Let's get going," Harry said, his voice reverberating in an echo underwater. "We only have an hour or so."

Malfoy nodded and they swam deeper into the water. Harry perused the lake bottom, peeking under rocks to look for leeches. These were actually quite easy to spot. The leeches clung to the bottoms of rocks and to the tendrils at the bottom of seaweed clumps. The moment Harry picked them up, the leeches sucked on his gloves and attempted to break through the material. He then immediately stuffed the creatures into the sack tied at his waist.

After capturing six leeches, Harry turned to look for Malfoy, who seemed to have gone deeper into the lake. Harry swam languidly through the water, the cold at the back of his mind now. He was happy with the way they were finding the ingredients so easily. Not too long from now, they'd begin the potion. With cheerful thoughts in mind, Harry dove deeper into the lake, the sunlight streaming less clearly through the murky depths.

Several moments later, Harry spotted the glinting silver trim of Malfoy's wetsuit and rushed in that direction. The closer he got, the more he was able to make out the scene before him. Malfoy was hovering over what looked to be a cave, trying to peek into it.

"I got all the leeches we need," Harry announced as he reached Malfoy. "Did you find something?"

Malfoy turned to face him. "I think there's a school of puffer fish in there. I need to draw them out."

Harry peered into the cave and saw the telltale spikes and balloon-like bodies. He aimed his wand at the cave and sent a wave of sound within. The fish immediately dispersed, scuttling out of the cave, as Harry and Malfoy grabbed at the nearest ones and stupefied them. As Malfoy deflated them and pushed them into the sack tied at his waist, Harry attempted to catch and stupefy the rest. He managed to capture another two, which he handed to Malfoy.

Harry was just considering how easy this had been when he stepped on something spiky and felt piercing pain shoot up his left leg. He looked at the lake bottom but saw nothing remarkable. Ignoring his irritation and sudden overwhelming pain, he spotted the last puffer fish hurrying to scuttle back into the cave; despite the excruciating sting, Harry stupefied the creature before it could disappear into the depths. Malfoy immediately scooped it up, giving Harry a grin as they finished the job.

Suddenly, Malfoy noticed the grimace Harry wore and the way he held his left leg higher than his right.

"What happened?" Malfoy asked, his voice reverberating.

Harry winced as the pain spread. "I-I don't know. I think I stepped on something."

Malfoy inspected the ground, then appeared to have spotted something. Swearing under his breath, Malfoy's expression became grave, and he linked one of his arms into Harry's right arm and began swimming toward the shore, striking his paddle feet against the murky water. Harry propelled his own feet, but his entire body was becoming paralyzed with pain. Their gills were beginning to retract, as well as the extra skin on their feet and hands. But only moments later, they broke through the surface, Malfoy dragging Harry as the latter became more laden and less able to carry himself. They splashed out of the water, Malfoy clutching Harry with one arm around Harry's back and under his left arm, and the other draping Harry's right arm over Malfoy's shoulders.

Malfoy laid Harry down on the cold, sandy shore. Harry's breathing slowed until he wasn't sure if he was breathing at all. The coldness of the air pressed upon him and he shivered. It seemed like the Warming Charm had disappeared and he felt the below freezing temperature again. He couldn't feel his left leg anymore, but the pain was still unbearable, and it had spread to other parts of his body.

"Potter!" Malfoy shouted, hovering over him. "We need to get you into the castle—quickly! You don't want the poison in there longer than necessary!"

Harry was numb and pained all over. "P-poison?"

"Come on!" Malfoy dragged him upward again. Harry felt himself being hauled into a standing position as Malfoy draped Harry's arm over his shoulders again, letting Harry lean heavily into him. He felt a Drying Spell remove the lake water from the uncovered parts of his body, since the wetsuit was quite repellant, causing him to shiver less. Then Malfoy partly dragged Harry through the frigid snow, toward the castle. Their bare feet froze in the snow, but Malfoy moved determinedly and Harry only struggled to keep up.

"W-what happened?" Harry asked, the cold and pain closing in on his senses.

But Malfoy didn't answer as they crossed the threshold into the castle. The castle wasn't much warmer than outside, but at least the floor wasn't as icy. It seemed like most students were still in classes, as no one walked down the hallways in their direction or stopped them to demand what was going on. They descended into the Dungeons, heading toward Malfoy's storage room. Malfoy blasted the door open with his wand as they reached it and pushed Harry into the dim little chamber, closing the door behind them. Harry sank into the chair at the desk in the corner of the room as Malfoy put a bucket of water in front of him. When Harry gave him an inquisitive look, Malfoy just pointed his wand at the water and heated it, making it boil for moment.

"Put your left foot in that," Malfoy instructed.

"It's just hot water," Harry said. "What's that supposed to do? Other than warm it up?"

Malfoy grabbed the sack of leeches tied at Harry's waist and snapped, "Just do it, Potter." He proceeded to untie his own sack of puffer fish and placed the ingredients on the desk.

Harry delicately placed his foot into the water and a prickly feeling crawled up his leg, warming him. Harry was still breathing shallowly and his foot was paralyzed with pain, but the water soothed him. "How long do I do this for?"

"At least an hour," Malfoy replied shortly. "And once I find the antivenin, I'll administer it to you."

"Anti-what?" Harry asked, his head swimming with pain and the thought that he didn't even know what had happened. "Malfoy—tell me what I stepped on. What was that?"

Malfoy paused while searching through his storage and looked at Harry. "It was a stonefish. They have very clever camouflage, as you probably noticed. And you're lucky it's not fatal. Just very, very painful."

"I figured that last part," Harry muttered. "Aren't those types of fish in warmer waters?"

"You'll probably find anything in the Black Lake if you looked hard enough." Malfoy went back to peruse his stores and finally returned with a small vial of something dark green. He uncapped it and handed it to Harry. "Drink this."

Harry took it carefully, inspecting it. "Is this the anti-whatsit?"

"Yes," Malfoy said shortly and returned to the ingredients they had collected. He took out a set of mortar and pestle and flipped the sack with leeches upside down into the mortar, making them squirm out and fall in.

Harry looked away and brought the vial to his lips, drinking it in one gulp. It didn't stop the bitter taste from lingering on his tongue, causing him to grimace. He heard Malfoy crush the leeches with the pestle, producing a squishy sound as he worked them into pulp.

"I'm surprised you're not queasy with doing that," Harry remarked, watching Malfoy produce a cup or so of leech juice.

"While that would be true with most things," Malfoy began, "Potion-making never makes me queasy."

After finishing the juice, he measured half a cup of it and placed it into a vial, labeling it. He then pulled out the five puffer fish and pointed his hawthorn wand at them, focusing on one fish at a time. As Malfoy concentrated, the eye of one fish began bulging out, as though slowly inflating, before it popped clear out of the eye socket and fell on the table, its nerves still attached to the head.

Harry thought he might be sick, and he wasn't even doing anything. Malfoy detached the nerves, all with his wand, and floated the eye into an empty bowl. He worked methodically with the rest of the fish, filling up the bowl with exactly ten eyes. Harry looked down at his leg, which was throbbing less now. It was two days in a row now that one of them had gotten hurt while looking for ingredients for this Felix Felicis potion. And they hadn't even started the actual potion, which was supposed to be the difficult part. And what if the potion didn't even work?

His head swimming with thoughts, Harry sighed heavily.

The sound distracted Malfoy, who was sealing the fish eyes into some kind of goo, probably to preserve them. He turned and glanced at Harry's worn out frame, his hunched shoulders and his left foot, which was still languidly moving in the warm water.

"You really didn't think this potion would be that easy, did you?" Malfoy asked, his voice quiet rather than demanding.

Harry just gave him a tired look.

"You know—for once, I kind of hoped it would be."

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**A/N: **Please let me know what you think! I think I'll be updating more often from now on, rather than about once every week.


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N:** As promised, here's the next chapter. I'll be updating every Thursday and every Sunday from now on, so you'll get two chapters every week. :)

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Chapter Six

Harry found Malfoy in his Potions classroom the next day, after his classes were over. Harry was a little unsteady on his left foot as he walked, but the pain had ebbed away. Now the bottom of his foot was still a little swollen and the flesh scarred after Malfoy had performed a healing charm on it.

Presently, Malfoy was inspecting his large Potions volume. He looked up as Harry entered the dim Potions classroom. "Did you bring the Cloak?"

Harry simply pulled the shimmery fabric out of his pocket and raised it up for Malfoy to see. Malfoy's eyes widened a bit and he strode across the room toward Harry, an ardent look in his face.

"Father always told me about its existence," Malfoy began, brushing his fingers against the fabric. "I thought I'd never actually see one, though. They must be so rare."

Harry felt odd, knowing that he owned something Malfoy didn't have—that was certainly not the case with anything else. He thought he could sense the greediness Malfoy had often displayed when they were students at Hogwarts.

"How did you get it?" Malfoy asked. "You of all people, Potter—have an Invisibility Cloak?"

Harry put the fabric back into his pocket, hoping to rein in Malfoy's avarice. "It's actually quite a long story. I'd have to go into the Deathly Hallows to tie it all in."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "The Deathly Hallows? Don't tell me your cloak is one of the—"

"I don't actually plan on telling you anything," Harry said. He supposed Malfoy didn't know anything about what had happened in their seventh year with the Deathly Hallows. He supposed not many people knew. "I think we should head out soon."

Malfoy looked more curious than ever, but his greedy expression finally cleared and he said, "Fine." After a moment, he asked, "You're really sure that there might be a Dementor near the Whomping Willow?"

"The one Ron sent a Patronus after went into the passage between the Shrieking Shack and the tree. It could still be there. And if we have the Cloak, we might be able to hide from it."

"I can't believe I never knew there was a secret passageway there," Malfoy marveled.

Harry pursed his lips. "The tree was only planted to hide the passageway from students. It was to help Lupin with his werewolf transformations—so he'd have somewhere to go." He left it at that, because the thought of Lupin still brought back unpleasant memories of the War.

Malfoy sensed Harry's closure and instead said, "You know, I overheard some of my students talking about secret passageways the other day. There was another one that led to Hogsmeade and a few second years were attempting to sneak into the village without permission."

"Really?" Harry asked. "And what happened?"

"They mentioned that the passageway was blocked with ice—not surprising at this time of year—but also that as they reached the end, they saw fog rolling in, so they turned back."

"You don't think—" Harry started, alarmed.

"I don't know if that really implies anything," Malfoy said. "I just thought you ought to know."

Harry looked deep in thought. "Hagrid mentioned that these Dementors are intelligent, that they could be planning something."

Malfoy's lips formed a sneer, almost unconsciously, and he muttered, "I'll never understand you and that oaf Hagrid. I still have that bloody hippogriff scar on my arm."

Harry glared at him. "Would you leave my friends alone, for once? Even when I mention them in passing, you insult them."

Malfoy crossed his arms. "I have been on probably the best behavior you've ever seen from me. I think you should be thankful enough that I'm helping you with this little project."

Harry rolled his eyes, deciding that was the best response he could hope for. "Right. Well, I really do think we should get going. Whether or not there'll be a Dementor in front of the Whomping Willow."

They left the Potions classroom and strode toward the castle entrance, through which they went out to the main grounds. The Whomping Willow lay in the distance, down a hill, its limbs waving slightly to rid itself of the snow that coated the bare branches. The two hurried downward, and after being only twenty yards away from the Willow, Harry drew his wand.

"_Immobulus!_"

The tree's branches immediately stopped moving as Harry and Malfoy walked closer to the tree. Malfoy grabbed one of the branches and broke off part of it, putting the twig in his cloak.

"Well, this should be the easiest day for gathering ingredients," Malfoy remarked.

Harry grinned and began snapping off a few branches. The tree swayed slightly, as though attempting to break the charm, angered that they were severing its limbs.

"We'll also be needing a few of its roots," Malfoy mentioned. He crouched down and pulled out a small blade, then began working at the thick roots.

"Malfoy?" Harry said. "That girl yesterday, Mafalda—she mentioned that the other Houses blame the Slytherins for the appearance of the Dementors. Why is that?"

Malfoy snorted as he placed roots into a little pouch. "Well, I think that should be obvious. Even for someone as dimwitted as you."

Harry scowled at him, snapping off another branch. But it didn't seem like Malfoy held as much malice in his words as he once would have. "And if it isn't obvious? Why would she say that?"

"Because it's true," Malfoy replied simply. "You-Know-Who had rounded up quite a few Dementors before the final battle, guaranteeing them food at Hogwarts if they joined his ranks. The Dementors follow anyone who offers them a meal. But, obviously, You-Know-Who failed in his end of the bargain, though many of the Dementors hung around here afterward, expecting to be repaid. Others still joined them after they were released from Azkaban. Needless to say, the other Houses think the Slytherins—the Death Eaters who still believe in You-Know-Who—have not given the Dementors what they wanted, so it must be the Slytherins' fault that the bloody creatures aren't leaving."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "And how the hell was that so obvious? That must be the strangest logic I've ever heard. What do young students like Mafalda have to do with a war that ended before they even came to Hogwarts?"

"Don't tell _me_ that," Malfoy shot. "I think I have a grasp of how illogical this entire situation has become."

Harry sighed heavily, hating to think the Slytherins victims for once. He returned his attention to the Whomping Willow, and was about to snap off part of a branch, before something caught his eye. From the dark hole between the enormous roots of the tree something wispy was emerging. The misty tendrils spread out and became fog-like. Harry immediately dropped his hand to his wand and backed up. The temperature, while cold already, dropped another ten degrees instantaneously.

"Malfoy?" Harry said slowly. "You'd better take a look at this."

Malfoy had been cutting roots from the immobilized tree and storing them in his pouch, when he turned to see what Harry was alarmed about. The fog had spread even further and the cold was enveloping them now.

"You don't think it's a—" Harry began.

"What else would it be?" Malfoy asked sharply. "Don't just stand there—get your Cloak out! I'm not done cutting these roots."

Harry hurriedly pulled out the shimmery cloak and crouched down beside Malfoy, throwing the fabric over both of them. He was closer to Malfoy than he was comfortable being and could hear his own and Malfoy's increased breathing. He could see Malfoy's concentrated face very clearly as he worked on the roots, his teeth worrying his bottom lip in nervousness, his blond eyebrows knitted very tightly, shadowing his eyes. Under the stifling material, suddenly Malfoy jerked his arm back as he hastily chopped the roots and hit Harry in the ribs with his elbow. Harry breathed in sharply, but refrained from moving or saying anything, as he caught sight of a ragged cloak emerging from the passageway.

The Dementor slithered out of the dark hole among the thick roots, unfolding its enormous corpse body and spreading out its arms, its tattered cloak billowing behind it. The large black hole of a mouth elongated, splitting its face in half. Fog engulfed Harry and Malfoy entirely, and the cold was more chilling than the below-zero weather they had experienced at the lake. Harry breathed in the scent of carrion and panic swallowed him up.

The creature glided toward them, as if certain of their location.

"What? How does it know?" Harry whispered, alarmed.

Malfoy paused in his cutting, and breathed in sharply, as though having realized something. "Idiots! We are such bloody idiots!"

Harry gave him a panicked look. "Why?"

"Dementors are blind," Malfoy said. "It wouldn't see us even if we didn't have this cloak. They sense our memories rather than our actual presence."

"Now you tell me," Harry muttered. Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed the cloak and pulled it off, realizing that it was futile to hide. He stood up and aimed his wand at the Dementor, desperately thinking of a happy memory. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he realized he was shielding Malfoy, who was probably helpless to defend himself against the creature. The Dementor pressed in on Harry, its bony, skeletal fingers reaching for Harry's collar. Harry screwed his eyes shut and concentrated. He felt the icy twig-like fingers grab his robes and suck in deeply.

Harry's resolve crumbled and he felt his mind give way. The dark memories overflowed their gates and crashed over him, waves and waves of horror drowning him. As clear as a bell, his mother's scream pealed through his mind, slicing the Patronus Charm as it died on Harry's lips. Harry stumbled backward, unsure if he was still conscious or not.

"_Potter_!" Another scream pierced his thoughts. Harry felt hands around his arms, dragging him backward, and the Dementor's influence lessened a bit. Harry's eyes flew open and he saw the creature yards from him, gliding forward again, as if infuriated that Harry had resisted it.

Then, regaining himself, Harry wrenched his arms out of Malfoy's hands and began sprinting toward the castle. He heard Malfoy follow him as they hurried up the hill. Harry didn't glance backward, in case he saw the monstrosity reaching toward him again. Once they reached the castle steps, they paused to regain their breath. Harry realized that unlike the time he had attempted to practice on the boggart, he hadn't fainted. This may have been because Malfoy had dragged him away at the last moment.

Harry looked at the bottom of the hill and saw that the Dementor was watching them from beneath the Willow's bare canopy. It lingered there for another moment, then glided back into the passageway.

"Hagrid's right," Harry said conclusively, his breathing still labored. "They're waiting. They won't follow us into the castle, because it's too risky. That one was tempted by us being so close, but it wouldn't actually break into Hogwarts."

Malfoy said nothing, but simply pulled out his pouch and counted the roots. He appeared satisfied that there were enough.

Breathing deeply, Harry took out a chocolate frog and bit off a corner of it. He chewed the bite slowly, lost in thoughts, before he noticed that Malfoy was staring at him.

"What?" Harry asked, biting off another corner of the frog.

Malfoy's face broke into a smirk. "I never realized Harry Potter had a sweet tooth. Now I know what to give you for your birthday."

Harry snorted, not fooled by the unusually intimate statement, as though now they were friends who followed each other's birthdays. "I do enjoy chocolate once in a while, but I'm not eating this to indulge. Lupin always told me that chocolate helps after an encounter with a Dementor."

"You and the werewolf sound close," Malfoy remarked, stuffing the pouch back into his cloak pocket.

"He was a good man," Harry said shortly. "And he was one of the few parental figures I've had, other than Sirius."

Malfoy's eyebrows instantly rose. "Sirius _Black_? The murderer? Your parental figure?"

Harry's face darkened. "Sirius was innocent. He would never have betrayed his friends the way Wormtail did."

But now Malfoy was entirely thrown for a loop. Not feeling particularly open, but deciding that this ambiguous statement needed an explanation, Harry told Malfoy about his godfather as they walked down the Hogwarts halls. How he had met him in his third year in the Shrieking Shack, how he had stopped Lupin and Sirius from murdering the rat that later assisted the Dark Lord in rising again, how Sirius had been innocent but nonetheless served thirteen years in Azkaban, how Harry had lost him to his inability to control his mind after practicing Occlumency with Snape.

Harry told Malfoy all this as they walked toward the Dungeons. Malfoy stopped him a few times to clarify time-related details, but otherwise listened rather carefully. Harry stared straight ahead as he said all this, not wanting to see Malfoy's reaction, whether it was a look of disgust or wonder.

"So his whole life, up until he died—no one knew that he was innocent?" Malfoy asked incredulously, as they reached his storage room.

Harry just shook his head sadly, unable to believe that he had just told Malfoy so much about such an intimate part of his life. And that Malfoy hadn't mocked him, or thrown around disgusted comments about Sirius.

"I can't stand that," Malfoy said, removing the items they had gathered from his cloak and pouch. "Even if he turned back on his family, Black deserved better than to be called a murderer his whole life. Of course, my family always told stories about him. His deserting his family—" Malfoy looked particularly bothered by this, "—and being a blood-traitor. But dying without anyone knowing the truth…"

"Well, now _you_ know," Harry pointed out. "So now you understand why Lupin and Sirius were important to me. They were the closest I ever had to parents."

Malfoy looked thoughtful. "So Black died. And the werewolf died. And of course, your parents had died." He gave Harry a piercing gaze, as though reaching a conclusion. "How many people did you know died?"

Harry sighed deeply. "Do I really need to answer that? I think the answer is self-evident."

Malfoy continued staring at him, as though forming new opinions about Harry. Then, he turned back to his supplies and began placing the twigs and roots into containers, which he then labeled.

"What else do we need for the potion?" Harry asked, ready to leave the subject of his dead friends and relatives.

"There's still a few we need to get," Malfoy said as he used his wand to float the containers to a half-empty shelf in his storage room. "On the bright side, I did ask Abercrombie to gather some scarab beetles and dragonfly wings in lieu of his detention. He looked particularly disgusted with having to rip off the dragonflies' wings."

"He's lucky you didn't decide to poison him. That's what Snape might have done."

Malfoy shrugged. "It crossed my mind several times. But I decided he might be useful for these potion ingredients in the future."

"So what exactly are we still missing?" Harry asked again.

Malfoy paused to consider the question. "I think a Doxy egg, toad's feet, red bat ears, ginger root, and goosegrass."

Harry looked thoughtful. "The plants—ginger root and goosegrass—would somebody else in the castle have them?"

"There might be some growing in the Herbology classrooms," Malfoy began, his voice becoming bitter. "But no one in the other Houses would give me their valuable materials."

Harry suddenly grinned. "I think now _you've_ forgotten who teaches Herbology. Neville will more than gladly give me any plant I need. No questions asked."

Malfoy looked up from organizing his ingredients. He locked eyes with Harry for a moment, and then began smiling. "For once, Potter, I'm glad you're in Gryffindor."

Harry's smile grew.

They decided to visit Neville the very next day.

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Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter Seven

**A/N:** Alright, so this chapter is kind of a turning point for the plot and the characters. I hope you enjoy it!

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Chapter Seven

Harry pushed open the wire-mesh of the classroom door, entering the Herbology greenhouse, as Malfoy followed behind him. Harry glanced around the sunlit room, surprised to see such greenery when the outside world was covered in snow. It looked just like he remembered, vibrant and full of plants that, unlike normal ones, twitched and moved in their pots. Some even made soft noises when the two entered the room, apparently alerted to their presence.

"Who's there?" Harry heard Neville's voice from a back room as footsteps sounded from that particular direction. He heard him muttering to himself, "There's no class for another hour."

Neville emerged from the adjacent room, wearing some kind of protective glasses and canvas gardening gloves. His face, covered in dark smudges, lit up at the sight of Harry, and then darkened again at the sight of Malfoy.

"Harry!" Neville chose to ignore Malfoy for the moment and walked forward to embrace Harry. "I didn't know when you were going to come back. But I was sure that you would. I've heard all about your Auror training and how much you've done already."

"Well, it's great to see you, Neville," Harry said cheerfully, as Neville backed up to examine him. Neville's smile was radiant. Harry remembered that they had gone through quite a bit throughout their last few years in school. Neville was one of his truly good friends.

"I really don't mean to rush you, Potter," Malfoy drawled. Harry realized that he hadn't heard that drawl in the past few days, and the sound brought back memories of the taunting he'd received from Malfoy in school. Harry, of course, didn't particularly miss it.

Neville glared at Malfoy. "What are you doing here, Malfoy? I don't want you anywhere in my greenhouse."

Malfoy scoffed and crossed his arms. "Trust me, Longbottom, I take no pleasure from being in your flower garden."

Harry decided that Neville wouldn't open up if Malfoy was around. He placed a hand on Neville's shoulder and led them further into the room, saying quietly, "There's something I need to ask you, Neville."

They strolled into a corner of the room, where Malfoy wouldn't hear them. Neville looked at Harry concernedly and asked, "What is it, Harry?"

"Well, I've decided to brew a potion while I'm on this mission," Harry began. "You've heard of the Aurors being stationed at Hogwarts?"

"Of course," Neville nodded. "I've heard all about you and Ron being here to fight off the Dementors."

"Well, I need some help with defeating them entirely, and I think this potion might help me. But I can't find some of the ingredients I need for it, and since you work in a greenhouse…"

Neville beamed at hearing this. "Anything you need, Harry. I'll help you out." His voice grew hushed and he bit his bottom lip, "Why is Malfoy here? You're not working with him on this potion, are you?"

Harry looked uncomfortable. He would have never thought there'd be a day when he'd have to hide his involvement with Malfoy. "Not really. Since he's the Potions Master, I've been able to get some ingredients from him. But there's some things I couldn't find and that he didn't have."

"What do you need?" Neville asked. Harry was immensely thankful that Neville didn't ask too many questions about the potion or Malfoy, especially since he wasn't inclined to share.

"I need some goosegrass and ginger root." Harry glanced behind him to inspect what Malfoy was up to. He seemed to be examining some very ugly-looking plants by the entrance.

Neville smiled. "That won't be a problem. Goosegrass is seasonal, but I should still have some. And ginger roots grow year-round. I'll be right back." He turned and strode into the adjacent room he'd first come out of.

After Neville left, Malfoy caught Harry's eye across the room and seemed to silently ask what had transpired. Harry gave him a thumbs up, feeling slightly ridiculous doing so. A little smile graced Malfoy's features at seeing the gesture.

Neville returned not a minute later, holding a ginger root and a packet of what Harry supposed was goosegrass. "The goosegrass was crushed in my storage a little," Neville apologized as he handed the items to him. "I hope that's okay."

"That's fine," Harry said. "I think I need to powder it anyway."

Harry turned to head back toward the greenhouse entrance when Neville glanced at Malfoy and suddenly exclaimed, "Hey, you be careful with those! I just repotted them!"

Malfoy looked up, surprised to be rebuked. He didn't appear to be doing anything wrong; he had just been stroking the plants' leaves. Neville strode toward him and pushed him out of the way. Neville then touched the leaves gently and, finding nothing wrong, became less tense. Harry slowly walked toward them, pocketing the ingredients he'd just received.

Malfoy looked livid to have been thrown back, by Neville of all people, but he didn't say anything.

Neville glanced at Harry as he approached. Neville looked apologetic to have reacted so strongly. "It's the Mandrake roots. They're so young; I try to be careful with them. You remember what they're like, don't you, Harry?"

Harry smiled, remembering when they'd had to repot them their second year. "Who could forget?"

Neville stroked the leaves fondly. "Very useful, Mandrakes. They un-petrified all those students when the Chamber of Secrets got opened. And a lot of poisons use them as a main ingredient."

Harry glanced at Malfoy as Neville spoke and noted that the latter seemed to have found something meaningful in Neville's last statement. Malfoy's eyes widened, then, after another moment, he bit his bottom lip and glanced away, lost in thought. Harry decided that if it was particularly important, Malfoy would tell him later.

"Well, Neville," Harry began. "Thanks for the goosegrass and the ginger root. Your class will be coming in soon?"

Neville straightened up and nodded. "Good to see you again, Harry."

Harry smiled and after several more exchanges, Harry and Malfoy left the greenhouse. Harry waited for Malfoy to say something, but the latter was still lost in thought and seemed to have no desire to converse. Since asking Neville for ingredients was the only thing they'd wanted to do that day, Harry decided that it would be best to part ways until tomorrow. Malfoy hardly even noticed when Harry bid him goodbye and left for the Great Hall.

Shaking his head at Malfoy's odd behavior, Harry sat down at the staff table and had lunch with Ron and the other Aurors. Ron had apparently been going to Hogsmeade with the Aurors and asking shop owners about the previous Dementor attacks. They hadn't gathered much information though. Dawlish spoke with Harry as he lunched, but even he didn't appear to have a concrete plan for defeating the creatures.

Harry returned to his sleeping quarters more restless than usual. Only after an hour in bed did he fall into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Harry awoke to the sound of his door creaking open. Immediately alert, he grabbed his wand from the bedside table and shoved his glasses on his face, hitting his nose in the process. The door then closed again quietly and someone walked around his four-poster bed and drew near. Harry's breath quickened. He clutched the wand with more fortitude.

The nearly-full moon shone into his room through a narrow window, allowing Harry to examine the figure. His intruder was tall and lanky, dressed in dark robes. But what stood out most was the blond hair gleaming in the moonlight.

"Malfoy?" Harry breathed, as his heart, which had been beating wildly, slowed down at the realization of who it was. "What the _hell_ are you doing here? How do you even know where I sleep?"

Malfoy appeared to have crossed his arms, although it was difficult to tell in the dark. "Your dimwittedness still amazes me, Potter. I've been here before, when we spoke with Slughorn through your fireplace. But never mind that, I have something important to tell you."

Harry fell back into his pillow, his tension gone now that he was sure he wasn't in any danger. He then groaned. "It must be one or two in the morning. You have nothing better to do than to sneak into my room at night and scare the hell out of me?"

Malfoy scoffed and sat down at the edge of his bed. His voice became more urgent, "You'll have to listen carefully, Potter. I think I've come up with a plan to defeat the Dementors."

Harry sighed heavily and rolled over into his sheets. "I think we already have a plan, Malfoy. Can't this wait until morning?"

"No," Malfoy said shortly. Before waiting for another groan or irritated response from Harry, he launched into his explanation: "Now, you're a great Auror, Potter, you must know all about these creatures. Tell me—How do you kill a Dementor?"

Harry thought about this. He decided it had to be a trick question. "You think if I knew that—I wouldn't just kill the damn things? Of course there's no way to kill them!"

He didn't know how he knew, but Harry thought Malfoy must have smiled. "Exactly. There's no known method for killing a Dementor. You can only use a Patronus to shield yourself."

"Is this leading somewhere?" Harry asked impatiently. He was quite tired and he hadn't been sleeping well the past week, swarmed by thoughts of Dementors and potion-making.

"Yes," Malfoy snapped. "Now listen to me and quit interrupting." His next words were less harsh, as if he was attempting to lead a second grader to understand pre-algebra. "But if there's any certain thing with a creature, it's that it can be poisoned."

Harry ceased being impatient and sat up in bed. "Poisoned?"

"Yes. I think Dementors can be poisoned." Malfoy's figure shifted as he turned to look at Harry fully, his voice growing excited. "The potion for any poison is not that different. As Longbottom pointed out today, Mandrake roots are a main ingredient."

"So that's what you've been concocting all day?" Harry asked, as Malfoy's behavior after Neville's statement became clear.

Malfoy appeared to have nodded. "I realized that if we could just make the right potion, we could poison a Dementor and most likely kill it. If the poison is lethal enough, any creature can be killed."

"You really think you could do this?" Harry asked uncertainly. "_You_ could create a poison that would kill even a Dementor?"

Malfoy sounded offended. "Would you quit doubting me, Potter? I know the idea is radical, but I think it's a better shot than the Felix Felicis. Liquid luck doesn't guarantee you're going to drive away all the Dementors. It just guarantees you'll succeed in whatever you try that day."

Harry was wide-awake now and his mind swam with ideas. "We've been working on the Felix Felicis for a while now. Are you saying you want to quit? Right now? After we're almost done getting the ingredients?"

"Of course not," Malfoy snapped. "That would be stupid. I think we should continue with it. But I also think we need a back-up plan. One that may work even better."

Harry was immensely doubtful of that. "Have you thought through this seriously? What if the poison doesn't work? What if something goes wrong and it backfires? What if—"

Malfoy suddenly got to his feet and Harry could tell he was bristling with anger. "Potter, would you have _faith_ in me! Trust in my skill as a potion-maker! I have invented potions before—this is not that much of a risk. If the poison doesn't work, the least we have done is tried something new."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Malfoy spoke before him—"And for Merlin's sake! I'm doing you an enormous favor, and this is how you repay me: By being doubtful of everything I suggest before you even think it through. I've considered and reconsidered this all day. Do you honestly think I'd even tell you if I didn't think it was within my ability to pull it off?"

Harry fell silent, realizing that Malfoy was right. Malfoy didn't have to do this—in fact, he didn't have to do anything for him. But Malfoy had stuck by him with the Felix Felicis, and now he had a new plan to possibly effectively kill the Dementors.

Clearing his throat quietly, Harry said, "Alright. If you think this'll work, then we'll give it a try. Do you know what kind of ingredients you'll need?"

Malfoy sat down on the bed again, his voice becoming quieter. "I've drawn up an outline of what I think we'll need. None of the ingredients are too difficult to get. Some we already have and others are around the castle." His voice sounded more amused as he said, "And I still have Abercrombie for another month and a half of detention."

Harry stood up straighter in his bed and looked at Malfoy's face, darkened by shadows. His blond hair still stood as lustrous in the moonlight as during the day. Somehow, the darkness and time of night made their conversation intimate, as though Harry could ask anything and Malfoy would probably reply.

"Malfoy? Why exactly are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?" Malfoy sounded offended. "If you don't want my help—"

"That's not what I meant," Harry interrupted quickly. More slowly, he began, "Why are you helping me make the Felix Felicis—why do all this work to get supplies and spend six months brewing the potion—why plan to create a poison that's never been invented before, just to get rid of a few Dementors? Why do you _want_ to help me? I mean, you've been a pain in the arse for the longest time."

Malfoy scoffed at the insult, but didn't reply immediately. In fact, the question seemed to catch him off-guard. As though he had been wondering the same thing for a while. Harry watched his dark figure as Malfoy raised a hand and ran it through his hair.

"I don't know," Malfoy said after several minutes. "I feel like I owe it to the Wizarding world to redeem myself. I've considered this for a while: That becoming a Death Eater was not a choice I would have made if my family wasn't caught in the War, on the losing side." He heaved a great sigh. "My task in sixth year… it was horrifying. I didn't want to do it. I wanted someone to take my place. As much as I still consider Dumbledore an old fool, I never wanted to kill him."

Harry was surprised at the scrap of humanity he had uncovered. Malfoy's words were an iceberg; just a glimpse of the turmoil he suspected lay beneath. "That day in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom…" Harry began slowly.

Malfoy laughed quietly. "Yes, that wasn't the only day I spent there. You know, Myrtle can be comforting when she tries."

"I don't have many fond memories of that bathroom either," Harry said, remembering himself and Ron uncovering the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and meeting Voldemort's preserved memory.

"I find that hard to believe," Malfoy sounded cynical. "You didn't enjoy hexing me into a bloody pulp?"

Harry blanched. He recalled Malfoy's body lying on the water-logged bathroom floor, his face paler and more pinched than usual, his shirt quickly flooding with blood, and Harry unable to stop it, not knowing the counter-curse for Sectumsemptra.

"No, I didn't," Harry said darkly. "That was the first time I had ever done that curse. I really was afraid I'd killed you."

Malfoy sat hunched forward on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, arms extending out and his hands clasped together, appearing pensive. "That was probably unfortunate for you, not having killed me."

Harry was becoming angry at the way Malfoy was throwing around these sarcastic statements. "Dammit, Malfoy! Why are you bringing this up now? We're more friends now than we've ever been. But you're disregarding all this and acting like we're back in school."

There was a moment of silence before Harry heard Malfoy breathe in deeply.

"Alright," Malfoy said finally. "I'll answer your question without beating around the bush. The reason I'm willing to help you. Part of it is that I really do owe you my life. Crabbe had made a mistake that cost him his life that night; and at that time, I no longer cared about being a Death Eater. All I ever wanted was to please my parents. I never truly cared about what You-Know-Who planned.

"The other part of it is that my name is meaningless now. Our family isn't recognized by anybody—not by the former Death Eaters, nor by your Order of Phoenix, and anyone else on that side. If I wasn't as qualified for the Potions job as I am, I would be Merlin knows where, but definitely not welcome here." Malfoy turned toward Harry, though neither could see each other very well. "You'd probably think it selfish, but I need to let the Wizarding world see me for my talents and not for my past choices. The moment you came along with your Dementor problems, I decided to help you. So the Malfoy name can be strong again, but maybe this time, for better reasons."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He'd never known that Malfoy was so dedicated to his parents, that he wasn't completely brainwashed into being a Death Eater, and that the current state of his name was so monumental. Harry took the glasses off his face and rubbed his eyes.

"So there's always been some ulterior motive," Harry finally said, though not meaning it unkindly.

Malfoy sounded amused. "You should know that, as a Slytherin, I always have ulterior motives."

Harry placed the glasses back on his face. "You're sure then, that you want to create this poison along with the Felix Felicis?"

"If you'll trust in me a little, then yes, I'm sure."

Harry heard Malfoy's robes shuffle as the latter stood up from his bed and said, "I think I've kept you from your beauty rest long enough. Meet me in the storage room tomorrow night. Be dressed in warm clothes."

"Why?" Harry asked as he watched the dark figure walk around his four-poster bed toward the entrance of the room.

Malfoy chuckled as he creaked open the door. "We're going to the Black Lake again."

The door shut behind him with a soft click before Malfoy could hear Harry swear loudly.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please review!


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N**: I think this is actually the shortest chapter yet. But to make up for its length, it does reveal a lot, and there's some H/D, if you squint.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Harry decided that going to the Black Lake again wouldn't be so bad. He'd dressed in a black turtleneck, long dark pants, and put on heavy boots. When he found Malfoy in his storage room, scribbling something onto a parchment, Harry noted that Malfoy had dressed in a similar manner.

Malfoy didn't even look up as Harry entered the dim room. It must have been nearly ten o'clock at night. From the list of ingredients they were still missing, Harry had gathered that they were going to get toad's feet while the moon was full.

"What else do we still need to get, after the toad's feet?" Harry asked as he waited for Malfoy to finish his scribbling.

Malfoy looked up at him and smirked. Harry realized that his smiles were getting less malicious by the day. "Well done, Potter. You've realized that it's the full moon and that we're getting toad's feet." He closed the book he was referencing and stood up. "You'll be glad to know that tonight is the last night we're getting ingredients for the Felix Felicis."

Harry's eyes widened. "You can't be serious. We already have everything else?"

Malfoy glanced at the shelf he'd designated to the liquid luck potion ingredients. It was nearly full of vials, small packets, and other materials. "Yes, we do. Abercrombie got me the red bat's ears—the boy must _really_ hate me by now—and I found a Doxy egg in a particularly abandoned part of the castle. I already have elderflower wine, moonstone, and honeywater. We'll be all set."

Harry found himself beaming at Malfoy. "Excellent! What are we waiting for?"

They set out toward the Black Lake. The full moon lit up the sky and basked the castle grounds in blue shadows. Even as they approached the lake, Harry almost expected to hear the frogs croaking along the shore. Though the weather was a bit warmer, most frogs were probably hibernating in the lake or under logs or mud. Another reason to have worn boots, Harry realized, as they'd probably walk through mud. He brought his wand out and quietly whispered, "_Lumos_," to light their way.

Malfoy handed him a pair of gloves as they neared the shore. The water was black and still as it rippled across the sand. Harry remembered lying upon that stretch of shore after being poisoned by the stonefish and Malfoy's alarmed face, hovering over him. He didn't realize until now just how much the animosity between them had changed.

As Harry dug through crevices upon the shore, muddying up his gloves, he addressed Malfoy. "If we get the toads' feet quickly enough, do you suppose we can get started on the Felix Felicis tonight?"

Malfoy sounded entertained by Harry's enthusiasm. "If you really want to. I have the ingredients ready and I've studied the instructions probably a hundred times. I could probably read off every step right now—"

"I don't particularly want to hear it," Harry said as he broke off part of a log, looking for toads. "It'll just remind me how much work we still have to do."

Harry heard Malfoy's boots squishing through the mud as he looked through the reeds. A moment later, he heard Malfoy call out, "I've found one!" Then more shuffling noises came from his direction as Malfoy was presumably attempting to get the creature out of the reed bed.

Harry smiled to himself and continued upturning logs and large patches of dead leaves. "Do you really suppose it'll take six months like the directions state?" he asked Malfoy as he picked through the leaves. "I mean, we're nearly done with finding ingredients and you said _that_ would take a considerable amount of time."

"I didn't anticipate how easily we would find these creatures, especially in the dead of winter," Malfoy replied, huffing slightly from his struggle in the reeds. He appeared out of them with an immobilized toad cradled in his hands. "And I hadn't thought that I'd have so many of the ingredients after the flood, or that I could make Abercrombie find them for us."

Harry watched as Malfoy placed the toad into a pouch he'd brought along. Returning to the logs, Harry overturned a particularly putrid-looking piece of wood and found a toad half-submerged in the mud, its back glistening in the moonlight. Grinning, Harry dug his hand into the patch and scooped it out. Following Malfoy's example, he immobilized it.

"We only need two, right?" Harry asked as he handed the toad to Malfoy, who placed it in the pouch. "Since the potion asks for three toad's feet?"

Malfoy smiled at him, his face shadowed in the darkness, and took off his muddied gloves. "I'm surprised how well you remember these things."

"You're not the only one that's looked at the list a hundred times," Harry muttered. He countered the _Lumos_ spell and turned off the light at the tip of his wand, then handed Malfoy his own dirty gloves.

"So, now that we've gotten the ingredients in several weeks' time with minimal bickering," Malfoy began, his voice sounding amused, "how will you handle six months of creating a murderously complicated potion—with me, of all people?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not particularly looking forward to it." But his face broke into a smile as he said it.

They began walking down the shoreline as Malfoy said, "Well, that's really a shame, because—"

But he didn't finish his statement, as his right foot slipped in the deep mud and he fell backwards. Malfoy grunted as he sat in the mud and attempted to pick himself up. In the darkness, Harry could see that Malfoy's glistening blond hair was streaked with grime and his robes were stained with the substance as well. They must have gone in a different part of the lake shore, because a few days ago, the shore had been sandy and smooth and not so muddy.

Harry laughed as he extended a hand out to Malfoy. Cursing, Malfoy reached out his left hand toward him and his robe sleeves fell, exposing his arm. Harry's laughter stilled as he saw, in the faint moonlight, the dim lines of the Dark Mark carved into Malfoy's forearm. His breath caught in his throat, and he remembered who he was laughing at, who he had been sharing innermost thoughts with, and who he was starting to consider a friend.

Malfoy sensed his sudden closure and ceased cursing under his breath. He turned his head to look at his exposed arm and saw the Mark, faint but visible even under the full moon. His expression immediately became grim.

"Potter—" he began quietly, but Harry cut him off as he grasped Malfoy's left hand tightly and pulled him out of the mud. Malfoy looked at him thankfully, yet his grave expression didn't change.

But Harry didn't let go of his hand. Instead, he brought Malfoy's arm closer to him and examined the pale black lines. The two stood perhaps a foot apart as Harry placed his other hand on Malfoy's forearm and carefully traced the black skull with his fingers. He ran down the length of the Mark, tracing the serpent that crawled out of the skull's mouth.

When Harry looked up to see Malfoy's reaction, he saw that the latter had closed his eyes and was biting his bottom lip, looking more sorrowful than he had ever seen him. The day Harry had witnessed Malfoy's distress in Myrtle's bathroom came flooding back.

"I don't let anyone see this," Malfoy said quietly. But he made no move to pull his hand out of Harry's grasp. "I've tried everything to get rid of the Mark, but it's stayed even after You-Know-Who died. Of course, it's inactive, but I don't like being reminded of its meaning, of the message it sends to everyone around me."

The initial uneasiness Harry had felt at seeing the Dark Mark dissipated. Instead, he realized that the Mark no longer fit Malfoy. It was as much a reminder of the past as Harry's lightning bolt scar was to him.

As though hearing Harry's thoughts, Malfoy slowly brought his right hand to Harry's forehead and paused, as though asking for permission. Harry flinched, but didn't pull away. Looking curious and still a bit troubled, Malfoy carefully pushed Harry's bangs out of the way and traced Harry's scar with his fingers. His fingers were cold and smooth against Harry's forehead, and he realized that his face had heated up. His stomach fell as he examined Malfoy's expression, devoid of anger, mocking, or irritation.

"You're as much Marked as I am," Malfoy stated.

Harry stared at the black lines upon Malfoy's forearm. He realized how much they held in common. While Voldemort had selected Harry as his rival, Marking him with the scar, Voldemort had also selected Malfoy for the impossible task of killing Dumbledore, Marking him above all other followers.

"You were as much Chosen as I was," Harry replied.

He released Malfoy's left arm and Malfoy's hand fell from Harry's forehead. They looked at each other for several moments, as though afraid to break the atmosphere they'd created. They then began walking back to the castle in silence. Harry was surprised to note that Malfoy hadn't even bothered to clean his dirty robes, nor did he complain about the mud in his clothes, as Harry might have expected. They were both lost in thought as they neared the Dungeons and Harry found that his heart was still beating quickly, though he didn't quite know why.

After they entered the storage room, Malfoy shook off his muddied robes and sat at the desk in the corner to begin cutting off the toads' feet. He did the same with these as with most other ingredients: placed them into a jar of preserving goo, labeled the jar, and placed it on a shelf.

"Shall we get started?" Harry asked, finding a cauldron already set up in the room. Whatever they had both experienced by the lake would probably not become an object of discussion. Harry understood that there was nothing to be said about it.

Malfoy had opened a reference book and was looking upon it intently as Harry picked up the thick Potions volume he had first read. But as Harry passed Malfoy's desk, something Malfoy was referencing caught his eye.

At the top of the page was a title and caption in script writing: _Antidotes, The Creation of Antidotes for Any Poison_. Harry was puzzled by this. He supposed Malfoy was researching the poison for killing Dementors, but—why would they need an antidote if they planned to poison the creatures? Why have an antidote ready just to heal them afterward?  
Malfoy noticed that Harry was hovering over him and glancing at the book he was reading. Malfoy immediately closed the book and stood up, heading toward the shelf of ingredients. "Alright, I suppose we should get started," he said, his words smoothing over his suspicious behavior.

"Malfoy, why are you researching antidotes?" Harry asked, deciding that Malfoy was hiding something.

Malfoy gave him an unreadable look, but didn't reply. He picked up a vial from the shelf and strode toward the cauldron.

Harry had the nagging feeling that Malfoy was truly hiding something important, but that he didn't want to lie to Harry. "Malfoy," Harry said warningly. "Tell me."

"I have nothing to tell you," Malfoy snapped.

"This has something to do with killing the Dementors," Harry continued, unfazed by Malfoy's reaction. "For whatever reason, you're planning to use an antidote." He took a few steps toward Malfoy, becoming angry that Malfoy wasn't revealing an important part of his plan. "But why would you create an antidote just to heal the bloody creatures after you attempt to kill them?"

Malfoy rounded on him. "What the _hell_ gave you that idea? Of course I'm not going to heal the damn things! Do you honestly think I'm that foolish?"

"Then what are you doing with the antidote?" Harry crossed his arms, looking at Malfoy menacingly, as though he wouldn't accept any lies or vague answers.

Malfoy pursed his lips and after a moment of looking into Harry's dark expression, glanced away. After some silence, in which he was constructing his answer carefully, he said, "I can't think of a way to get the Dementors to take the poison. All the books I've read suggest that they're too ethereal to ingest something directly. Moreover, they're too intelligent to be fooled into drinking poison."

Harry listened carefully, but his stance didn't loosen. He continued glaring at Malfoy. "But you've found a way to get them to ingest it."

"Yes," Malfoy acknowledged. "I've thought of something that will work. I'm certain of it because it's based on the way Dementors feed."

"So what does it have to do with antidotes?" Harry asked, now curious at the nervous expression on Malfoy's face.

Malfoy bit his bottom lip. "Now, Potter. You have to listen to me carefully. Don't overreact—listen to me entirely."

Harry nodded, uncrossing his arms and looking more curious.

"You first have to understand how this poison works," Malfoy began. "It has to be based on memories, because Dementors feed off of good memories, leaving the person drained, left with their worst recollections. If the poison fools the Dementor into thinking they are feeding off of good memories, when they are really eating up the person's worst ones, the Dementor will become weakened. And if the Dementor attempts to Kiss the person—it will die."

Harry considered this. "Alright, that makes sense. But why are you talking about the poison as if it won't be ingested by the Dementor? As if the Dementor only feels its effects?"

Malfoy looked particularly troubled. "Because, Potter, the Dementor won't be taking the poison."

Harry's eyes widened. "You can't mean—"

"One of us will."

* * *

Thanks for reading! (Sorry for the cliffhanger). Please review! :D


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N:** Thank you so much to all who've been reviewing! You guys are really making my day. This chapter is more of a build-up for the next one, so I hope that's alright. :)

* * *

Chapter Nine

Harry was too shocked to reply at first. Then, the more he considered Malfoy's statement, the more other parts of his explanation made sense.

"That means one of us will be Kissed?" Harry asked hollowly.

Malfoy nodded slowly. "Yes. One of us will take the poison, suffer the Dementor's Kiss, and after the Dementor dies, the other will administer the antidote."

"What do you mean, 'suffer the Dementor's Kiss'? We won't actually get our soul taken out, will we?" Harry shuddered, remembering again the score of Dementors that had nearly taken his and Sirius' souls in third year.

"Of course not," Malfoy said. "But the person who's poisoned may lose consciousness, for as long as the Dementor thinks it's sucking out the person's soul. You should know—the poison is lethal to humans. Whoever takes it will only have ten minutes, at most, before he dies. That's why the antidote is so crucial."

After the mind-numbing realization of what Malfoy was planning, Harry began feeling angry. "Why do you keep saying, 'whoever takes it,' or 'whoever gets Kissed'? It will obviously be me! You can't poison yourself!"

"Why not?" Malfoy countered. "I've gone to great lengths to come up with this poison and consider all the details. I will know exactly how it works. Besides, the last thing I want to do is kill the Boy Who Lived."

Harry looked menacing again. "You can't take the poison, Malfoy. Defeating these Dementors is _my_ job! What do I get paid for if not to finish the job myself?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Well, putting aside who will actually get poisoned, does the plan still sound good to you? Are you still willing to do it?"

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Of course not! You probably planned this antidote thing all along, didn't you? Since Neville mentioned the Mandrake roots. But you didn't tell me yesterday, when you were so eager to get started with the poison."

Malfoy glared at him. "You're right. I lied by omission. I didn't think you were going to agree, so I didn't even bother explaining the logistics of it."

"Were you going to keep me in the dark until the last moment?" Harry shot. "When I'm about to get Kissed, you were going to mention that _I'll_ be taking the poison?"

The fear of third year, before Harry could produce a Patronus, came back with vicious clarity. He was truly afraid of the Dementor's Kiss. He wasn't sure if he was overreacting, but if he was, he felt it justified.

Malfoy sighed heavily. "Potter, even if you disagree, this is the best shot we have at truly killing the Dementors. I can tell you now that Felix Felicis will probably allow you to produce an astounding Patronus, at best. This poison is full-proof."

Harry had stopped listening. He turned toward the door to the storage room and said, "We'll get started with the Felix Felicis tomorrow."

"And the poison?" Malfoy asked, sensing that Harry was about to leave.

"I'm not putting anyone's life on the line for a few bloody Dementors," Harry replied as he opened the door.

As Harry stepped over the threshold, he heard Malfoy ask quietly:

"Then why did you become an Auror, Potter, if not to take such risks?"

* * *

Harry met Malfoy in the storage room the next day, as they had planned. They began the Felix Felicis potion without exchanging many words, other than the technical ones associated with potion-making. Malfoy didn't mention the poison, which surprised Harry; he had expected to be pestered about it. Even as they worked on the Felix Felicis, Harry didn't feel the exhilaration he thought he'd feel at finally starting the six-month potion.

They began by stewing the twenty dragonfly wings in a fourth of a cup of elderflower wine. The instructions read, "_Stew the dragonfly wings in the wine for the duration of 20 hours. Every half-hour, stir the potion seven times in a counter-clockwise direction._" To say the least, Harry was tired of keeping track of every half-hour. He and Malfoy took turns stirring the potion as necessary. One watched the other carefully to make sure that the stirrer did so exactly seven times and in the correct direction. Harry remembered that Slughorn had advised them to follow the instructions with utmost care, or the consequences could be disastrous.

Toward lunchtime, Harry left the storage room to get them some food. Since every half-hour was so short, they couldn't leave the room for too long.

As they ate, after the sixth hour of stirring, both Harry and Malfoy were becoming restless. Though the tension between them was still palpable, they finally began speaking again, about things outside the Potions vocabulary.

Malfoy was curious about the whereabouts of Harry's other friends. "Whatever happened to Granger? I haven't seen you or Weasley attempt to contact her since you've been here."

"She works at the Wizengamot," Harry said as he downed a goblet of pumpkin juice. They sat on the dusty floor of the storage room, separated by the bubbling cauldron. "She's actually quite busy with paperwork and such. Trying to change a few laws regarding purebloods."

Malfoy snorted as he finished his plate of mashed potatoes. "I'm not the least bit surprised. Did she and Weasley ever…?"

Harry laughed. "Yes, they're still dating."

"But knowing the way it took them years to start, they'll get married in their forties," Malfoy remarked.

Harry looked into the cauldron to examine their potion. It was still foamy white. By the twentieth hour, it should be green and look as smooth as glass.

"Potter, what happened to you and the Weasley girl?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

"Oh, Ginny? She's playing for a professional Quidditch team." Harry observed the cauldron as he spoke. "We parted ways for a while. Our careers are pretty demanding, so there was really no point in dating while we were both away constantly."

"I see," Malfoy said. He glanced at a clock on the little desk they had bewitched to ring every half-hour. There was still five minutes until the next stirring.

Harry glanced at Malfoy. "How about you? Pansy or Millicent Bulstrode up to your dating standards?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Give me a break, Potter. Pansy was always a good friend of mine. I wouldn't really think of dating her. And Millicent? Have you _seen_ the girl? She looks like something out of _Holidays with Hags_."

Harry laughed, because that was exactly what he'd thought when he saw Millicent Bulstrode. "Then, I really don't know any other Slytherin girl you'd be interested in."

Malfoy shrugged. "I've been too preoccupied with other things to consider anyone. I have a full-time job, after all." He paused, and then recalling something, said, "But while on the subject of dating, I've heard some interesting gossip."

Harry looked up, to show that he was attentive.

"I've heard that Justin Finch-Fletchley and Zacharias Smith got together after the War."

Harry balked at this revelation. "What? You're not serious."

"I was surprised myself," Malfoy said off-handedly. "Justin is the perfect replica of the Hufflepuff student—nice, kind, loyal—and while Smith is also from Hufflepuff, he hardly represents his House. He's always rude, critical, and distrusting of everything. I don't know how those two get along."

Harry was unsettled that Malfoy was ignoring the most important part. "Well, forgetting all that—they're two blokes!"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows slightly. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"You don't find it odd that two men are dating each other?" Harry asked slowly, unable to believe Malfoy's lack of concern. With the number of prejudices Malfoy had, Harry was surprised that homosexuality wasn't one of them.

"I don't know how that's offensive," Malfoy said, giving Harry a strange look. "Maybe in your Muggle world it's uncommon, but it happens in the Wizarding world."

"Of course it happens," Harry said impatiently. "I'm just surprised that you don't care. You're bothered by Muggle-borns and half-bloods, but not by homosexuality?"

"Homo-what?" Malfoy asked, probably having never heard the word, but then he thought of the individual parts of the word and said, "Oh, I see. Well, of course the matter of blood is more important than sexual preferences."

Harry couldn't keep the look of surprise off his face. "Is that just a pureblood thing, to not care about sexual preferences?"

"Of course not," Malfoy sounded startled. "People in the Wizarding world, whether pureblooded or not, don't blink an eye at two blokes—or two girls for that matter—being together. I'm surprised you haven't encountered that before. Do Muggles take offense to that?"

Harry snorted. "_Do_ they? A lot of them don't just take offense. They think it's a blow at the whole institution of marriage."

"You're just giving me more reason to hate Muggles," Malfoy muttered.

"Now that I think of it," Harry began, "homophobes in the Muggle world are a lot like the purebloods in the Wizarding world. Both harbor illogical hatred toward an innocent group of people."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I think purebloods have a bit more logic to their hatred. I mean, honestly, who _cares_ who shags whom?" Malfoy paused and glanced at Harry. "Are you like one of those Muggles? Who hates two blokes being together?"

Harry took a short while to answer. "Actually, I've never thought much about it. I suppose I wouldn't really care. What you said about Justin and Smith just caught me by surprise, that's all."

A loud chime came from the bewitched clock on the desk, announcing that another half-hour had passed. Harry stirred the potion in a counter-clockwise direction seven times while Malfoy watched intently.

Harry and Malfoy spent the rest of the day in the same manner, stirring the dragonfly wings and elderflower wine and talking about various aspects of their Hogwarts experiences. Harry told Malfoy about some of his confrontations with Voldemort, and Malfoy compared these to his fewer and farther spaced encounters with the Dark Lord. Harry realized how much distress Malfoy had felt in their sixth year. Being set the task of killing a powerful wizard at the age of sixteen, with no one to help him or give him other options was truly troubling.

After twenty long hours passed, the potion did indeed turn glass green. It was four in the morning when they finished the last stirring. Despite the grueling amount of time they'd spent in that little storage room, Harry felt cheerful after his long conversations with Malfoy.

The next day, Harry decided to contact Hermione. After Malfoy had mentioned that Harry hadn't spoken with her in a while, Harry felt guilt-ridden that he hadn't done so yet. So he decided to send her an owl. He spent an hour deciding what to write. After a few formal sentences describing how he and Ron were faring, Harry decided to tell her about the Felix Felicis.

…_I don't know how it's happened, Hermione, but I can't produce a Patronus. I keep remembering things from the War, particularly the more gruesome parts and can't find a happy enough memory. I haven't told Ron or the other Aurors—I know you're probably not pleased with that, but I can't risk being thrown off the team. You'll find this strange I'm sure, but I've been working on a Felix Felicis potion with the help of Malfoy, who's the Potions Master at Hogwarts (believe it or not). I think it'll let me produce the Patronus, but it takes six months to brew…_

After staring at the letter for a while, Harry decided to send it. Hermione deserved to know how he was doing. And she might have suggestions as to what he should do.

Whereas the days Harry and Malfoy had been gathering ingredients were particularly interesting and different each time, the days following the start of their potion fell into a predictable pattern. They met in the storage room each day and worked on the potion. Many parts of it required them to add an ingredient bit by bit, every hour or every two hours. So they spent quite a bit of time simply sitting on the stone floor, chopping and adding ingredients, and conversing in the long hours in between.

One day, several weeks after they'd been working on the potion, Harry didn't find Malfoy in the storage room at the usual time they met. Not knowing where else to look, Harry went to the Potions classroom. As he drew near, he heard students' voices from within, and laced among them, Malfoy's as well. Harry entered the room quietly, but the conversation ceased immediately.

Three Slytherin third years turned to look at Harry. Malfoy caught Harry's eye across the room.

"Well, if it isn't Harry bloody Potter, listening in to our private conversation," a red-headed girl said viciously. Harry recalled seeing her in Malfoy's classroom before, the rebellious girl Mafalda Prewett.

"Hello, Mafalda," Harry said politely. "If this is some kind of student-teacher conference, I'll be on my way."

"I think you should stay, Potter," Malfoy said. "What these students are telling me might be of interest to you."

Harry walked forward and examined the other students. The girl standing next to Mafalda was petite and swamped in her robes; she had unusually long brown hair and a curious expression as she watched Harry approach. A boy stood farther apart from the rest of them, as though he didn't quite want to be there. He had jet black hair, a somber expression, and had his arms crossed.

"You've met Mafalda," Malfoy said, then pointed at the petite girl, "That's Tracey Higgs. And the young man is Graham Pritchard."

Harry nodded at them. "Pleased to meet you. I'm sure Mafalda has already pointed out who I am."

The boy gave him a suspicious look, Mafalda scoffed, and the other girl, Tracey, gave him a small smile.

"Carry on, Mafalda," Malfoy indicated.

"Not while this git is here," she replied. "He'll just gloat to the other Gryffindorks about how pleased he is that we're getting punished."

"By Whitby again?" Harry asked, sensing the distress in Mafalda's words, despite her malicious treatment of him.

Malfoy nodded. "Tracey here couldn't transfigure something in class today and Whitby docked the Slytherins fifty points—you should know, the Slytherins haven't won the House Cup in three years now—and after Graham and Mafalda got involved, Whitby took away their Hogsmeade privileges for the rest of the year. Instead, they have detention with him every Saturday."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "That seems a bit harsh."

The young boy, Graham, shrugged. "I've heard that while Umbridge was Headmistress, the punishments were much worse. You were forced to bleed from your fingers."

Harry smiled ruefully. "You don't have to tell me. I've been in her detentions plenty of times." He held up his right hand to show them the faintly legible script that had scarred his flesh.

The three Slytherin students gathered close to read the handwriting. Tracey was closest to Harry as she slowly read out, "_I…must not…tell lies_." She gasped and the other two looked sick to their stomachs.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who seemed to have turned green as well. Malfoy had been on the Inquisitorial Squad—how could he have known what Umbridge's punishments were like?

"That's awful," Tracey said quietly.

Malfoy looked disgusted. "That vile woman. I had always heard rumors about what she did during her detentions, but none of the Slytherins ever—"

"—ever got detention. I know," Harry said angrily. He particularly addressed Mafalda. "Do you see now? That I'm not on anybody's side when it comes to punishing people? Whether it's the Slytherins or my own House. I don't believe anyone should suffer an unfair punishment."

Mafalda pursed her lips and said nothing.

"I think we can all agree that Whitby is tiptoeing the line in penalizing the Slytherins," Malfoy finally said. "The question is what can be done about it."

"Nothing," said Mafalda. "If _we_ put a toe out of line, we'll get suspended or expelled."

"Mafalda's right," Harry said, earning a very suspicious look from the redhead. "The last thing the Slytherins want to do is provoke the other Houses. You saw how devastating the flood was to the Dungeons. That was the response to a few harmless pranks. I think that Whitby will turn himself in—he'll do something so astounding and shocking to punish you that the other Houses will notice."

The three students looked at him with less anger and more respect.

Graham nodded.

"It's only a matter of time."

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please review!


	10. Chapter Ten

**A/N**: Thanks again to all those who've been reviewing. :D

* * *

Chapter Ten

Before Harry knew it, several months had passed. He and Malfoy had gotten a good portion of the Felix Felicis done and were on rather good terms with one another. Every day, they spoke at length with each other to pass the time. Harry found out a great deal about Malfoy's experiences at Hogwarts; he was finally able to distinguish between Crabbe and Goyle, upon finding out that they had some personality after all. Harry revealed parts of his own life too and the time seemed to pass by much faster between stirring and adding in ingredients.

As the weather warmed and they sat all day in the stifling storage room, they began shedding the long robes and instead wore button-down shirts. Sometimes, Malfoy rolled up the cuffs on his shirt and the Dark Mark peeked from his left forearm as he worked on the potion. Several times, he caught Harry staring at the Mark, but said nothing. In fact, Harry found himself staring at Malfoy more in general, but the latter said nothing about that either.

One morning, Harry was breakfasting with Ron when a gray owl swooped into the Great Hall and flew toward the staff table. It dropped down in front of Harry and presented its letter. Ron looked on curiously as Harry opened it, but respected his privacy by not reading along with him.

_Dear Harry,_

_It's definitely not good that you can't produce your Patronus. You know I'd like you to talk to Ron at least, if not the other Aurors as well. I'm not sure how effective the Felix Felicis will be. I know it's worked for you before, but six months is a long time. What if you encounter Dementors before then?_

_ You're working with Malfoy? Well, now I _know_ something's wrong. I'm only joking. If Malfoy is willing to help you, then I'm sure he has plenty of expertise as a potion-maker and it's probably for the best. Maybe you'll set aside your childhood rivalry, if only for a while._

_ I'd like to talk to you face to face. I'll use the Floo network to contact you in your sleeping quarters tomorrow at 10:00 PM._

_With love,_

_Hermione_

Harry folded up the letter and pursed his lips. Of course he wouldn't let the other Aurors know. Though he was glad that Hermione didn't think it too odd that Malfoy was helping him with the potion.

As Harry was finishing his goblet of juice, the Great Hall doors were suddenly thrown open and Dawlish burst through them, striding forward toward the staff table. His expression was grim and his lips were drawn into a thin line.

"Potter, Weasley, you two had better come with me," he said gravely.

There was no room for argument. Harry and Ron stood from the table and followed him. Many pairs of eyes followed them curiously as they strode quickly through the Great Hall and then down the hallways, in the direction of the Dungeons. But instead of heading down into the actual Dungeons, the path Harry now took every day, they took a different hallway. Harry recognized this as the area in which Myrtle's bathroom was located.

As they strode quickly down the corridor, Harry saw a throng of people hovering over something in the hallway. The floors were flooded and as they walked closer, Harry felt a chill pass over him. He became more anxious as he neared the circle of murmuring students and teachers gathered there. A few students turned to look at the Aurors as they approached; their gazes were horrified with what they'd seen. They were whispering amongst themselves—"What happened to her?", "Is she alive?", and "What did this? Is it still in the castle?"

"Stand aside," Dawlish ordered, pushing the bystanders aside to go through. "Make way, make way."

Harry and Ron jostled into the circle and Harry finally took a look at what everyone had been shockingly murmuring about.

Sitting limply against the wall was Mafalda Prewett. Her arms were at her sides, lying still and lifeless; her legs lay at odd angles to her body, one drawn up, bent at the knee and the other flush against the cobblestone floor, bent outward. Her wand was on the floor, a foot from her right hand, where she must have dropped it.

But what was most shocking about the still figure was her expression. She was as pale as if all color had fled her face and her mouth was slightly open, as though in silent scream. The vicious eyes Harry had grown to anticipate were open and devoid of emotion. She gazed forward, into nothingness, as her bottom lip quivered slightly. The serpent, symbol of the Slytherin House, stared fixedly at the onlookers from the top left part of her robes, etched over her heart. But the bright red hair reminded Harry that she wasn't just any other Slytherin—her likeness to Molly Weasley was unmistakable.

Harry looked away. Anger seized him like never before. Despite the insults and unkind words she had thrown at Harry, the image of her helpless body was burned into his mind. He couldn't shake himself of the guilt that he should have been here—it was his job to protect the castle from Dementors.

The whispering crowd behind him continued its hushed discussions. Suddenly, another figure rushed through the crowd and stopped to stand beside Harry and Ron.

Malfoy took in the sight slowly, as though unable to believe his eyes. "No," he said quietly. "How?"

"She's been Kissed," Harry said, although that much was obvious.

Malfoy's expression distorted; he looked pained and grief-stricken. He dropped down beside Mafalda's limp body and took her hand and simply looked at her quietly.

Ron gave Harry an incredulous look at Malfoy's reaction. "I take it he knew her?"

"Yes," Harry said shortly, without looking back at him. "And so did I."

The crowd parted again as McGonagall entered the throng of onlookers. She brought her hand to her lips as her eyes widened to take in the scene. "What-what has happened here?"

"It looks like a Dementor Kissed her," Ron said. "Though I don't understand how it got in the castle. And where the bloody thing is now."

McGonagall's lips drew into a thin line. "I will ask everyone but the Aurors to leave immediately. All teachers and prefects will walk their respective House students to their dormitories, where you will stay until further notice. Is this understood?"

The crowd immediately set into action and everyone left but the Aurors and Malfoy. Despite McGonagall's urges that Malfoy leave the scene, the latter crossed his arms and refused determinedly, saying he had as much right to be there as the Aurors, since the student was from his own House.

Finally, McGonagall turned toward the Aurors, her expression anguished. She asked quietly, "Dawlish, do you know how this happened?"

Dawlish shook his head grimly. "We have no idea how the Dementor even got into the castle, much less how it disappeared so quickly, before an onlooker could spot it. This is beyond all of us, Minerva."

McGonagall looked at Mafalda's body distraughtly as she spoke, "This is an enormously serious matter. We've had problems with the Dementors for years, but they have never attacked a student. We can't allow an incident such as this to occur again. Dawlish, I hope your team does all that it can to prevent another attack." Her gaze became more troubled. "I can't even imagine what to tell the parents of this child. Hogwarts is renowned as a school with the safety of its students in mind first and foremost."

The team of Aurors followed her gaze and absorbed the shocking sight before them.

Dawlish spoke quietly, "We've been interviewing everyone in Hogsmeade to understand what's going on. We've scoured every part of the castle to make sure the Dementors aren't breaking in. I don't understand where they could be hiding." He glanced at McGonagall, "Minnerva, be assured that we'll do our best to prevent another attack."

McGonagall nodded and, having nothing else to say, turned on her heel and left the hallway.

After she had left, Dawlish turned to his team and said, "The least we can do is patrol this corridor more strictly. We'll need to keep post at various parts of the castle if we want to catch these devils. We won't let another attack like this happen."

After Dawlish spoke more about their various options, most of the Aurors left the hallway. Ron glanced at Mafalda's body one last time before saying, "I'll be in my room, Harry. I think I'll send a letter to Hermione and see if she has any clues on what's going on." He gave Malfoy a suspicious look, perhaps not wanting to leave Harry with him, but left after another moment, not wanting to be near the ghastly image any longer.

Harry was left in the hallway with Malfoy, who was still kneeling by Mafalda. The puddle on the floor had soaked the girl's clothes. Malfoy didn't seem to notice the water as it seeped into his own robes. As Harry watched, Malfoy brought his hands to the girl's open eyes and closed them. What most scared Harry was that Mafalda was still breathing. She was as much alive as he and Malfoy. But her soul, the most important part of her—the part that had conversed with Harry crossly and heatedly, insulted him, and rebelled—was gone.

Harry placed a hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Malfoy."

Malfoy was breathing slowly. "I should have been here. I was just down the hall. I could have stopped it—I could have thrown myself at the bloody thing and let it suck _my_ soul out."

Harry crouched down beside him. "It's not your fault. There was nothing either of us could do."

"So we're working on this goddamn liquid luck for what?" Malfoy exclaimed. "So the few people I care about get destroyed? I don't know if you knew, but she was my best student. She never had a real parent—she looked up to me!"

Harry squeezed Malfoy's shoulder. "I know how you felt about her. We'll continue working on the potion, so that no one gets hurt in the future."

"This is the only student in the whole damn school that I cared about!" Malfoy yelled, his voice reverberating through the empty hallway. "I don't care what happens to the rest of those gits. I don't care if someone from the other Houses get Kissed. In fact, I think it's about time someone but the Slytherins got punished."

Harry dropped his hand from Malfoy's shoulder. "You don't mean that."

"No, Potter, I really do. I'm tired of watching my students get trampled on for no fault of their own, and Whitby goading us on without anyone calling him out on it."

"I understand that, but you can't honestly want someone else to get Kissed, whether they're in Slytherin or not. Look at Mafalda and tell me you'd like to see anyone else in this situation. It's worse than death."

Malfoy was silent for a moment. Then he sighed heavily. "No, you're right. I wouldn't wish a Dementor's Kiss on anyone. But, you know what, Potter? Whether you're helping me or not, I'm creating the poison. Because the next time I see a Dementor—I'm going to kill it."

Harry looked into Malfoy's gray, troubled eyes. His hair looked messier than usual and his mouth was set determinedly. Malfoy was infuriated beyond reason. Harry could see now how much Mafalda had meant to him, as a student and perhaps as an apprentice. They shared a similar, but perhaps friendlier, relationship that Malfoy and Snape had had.

Harry stood up and looked down upon Malfoy. "Alright, I'll help you."

He extended his hand toward Malfoy, who ignored it and gave him a suspicious look. "I don't believe it. You're really agreeing to this? After months of not saying a word about it?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I'm as much angry about Mafalda's death as you are." He considered it a death because, honestly, she wasn't truly alive anymore. "And everywhere I turn, I get doubts about the Felix Felicis. After seeing the damage these Dementors can do, I think you're right. I need to take risks if I'm going to be a proper Auror. And I'm going to trust you to make a poison and antidote that won't kill me."

Malfoy didn't quite smile, but his expression cleared a bit. "We still haven't decided who'll take the poison." He extended his arm out to grasp Harry's hand.

"I think that's irrelevant now," Harry replied grimly, helping Malfoy up.

Suddenly, another figure came running down the hallway, her robes billowing behind her. Harry noticed that it was Madam Pomfrey; she stopped short at the sight of Mafalda and then dropped down beside her.

"Poor, poor child!" Madam Pomfrey said heavily. Then, placing the girl's limbs in a more comfortable position, she picked her up with relative ease. Mafalda opened her eyes and made a few whimpering noises, but otherwise did nothing, allowing herself to be held, limp as a puppet.

"Do you need any help?" Harry asked, further disturbed by what had become of this child.

"No," Madam Pomfrey replied shortly. "Leave this child in my care. Although how much I can do for her, I don't know."

She cradled Mafalda and walked down the hallway, presumably toward the Infirmary.

Harry turned back to Malfoy, who was staring at the quickly departing figures. Upon hearing Mafalda's soft whimpering, his face had closed. But as Harry tried to place his hand on Malfoy's shoulder, the latter turned and began walking toward the Dungeons.

"Malfoy?" Harry called.

But Malfoy refused to acknowledge him.

* * *

The next night, Harry sat in front of his fireplace and waited for Hermione's head to appear out of the cold hearth. He was considering what he'd told Malfoy—that he'd help him make the poison, and perhaps even take it himself to destroy the Dementors. Despite his prior disinclinations toward the idea, he now realized how important this mission was. An innocent child had died, and Harry would be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to avenge her.

Suddenly, a pop sounded from the fireplace and Hermione's head appeared in green flames. Harry smiled at her.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "How good to see you! I've talked to Ron using the Floo network several times, but it's been a while since you and I have talked." Her voice became more somber. "I've heard about the Dementor attack."

Harry ceased smiling. "That's what scares me, Hermione. Even if I had been there, there was nothing I could have done. I've tried everything—I've tried producing a Patronus in front of Dementors, in front of a boggart—nothing works."

Hermione gave him a pitying look. "But Ron was fine? He doesn't have any problems?"

"No, he doesn't," Harry said bitterly. "I don't know if it was just my experiences during the War—"

"Of course that's what it is, Harry. But I didn't realize you would be so affected. It means there's no memory happy enough to outset the bad ones for you to produce a Patronus."

Harry sighed. "I know. Everything I come up with is blocked by my worst memories."

Hermione thought for a moment. "You mentioned you and Malfoy were working on Felix Felicis?"

"Yes, but like everyone keeps telling me, I don't think it will be wholly effective. But, Hermione—there was something else that Malfoy's come up with."

"Oh, really?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "What is it?"

"It's a poison of some sort. His explanation was a bit broad, but the basic gist of it is—a person takes the poison and lets himself be Kissed by a Dementor. The Dementor is fooled into thinking that it's feeding off of good memories, but instead receives the person's worst ones. Essentially, this kills the Dementor, because its system wouldn't handle it."

Hermione looked concerned. "That's an interesting idea, considering there's probably no real way to poison the Dementor, but—what about the person that takes the poison? Is it dangerous to him?"

"Yes. But Malfoy is also creating an antidote for it, so it can be administered quickly."

Hermione sounded even more worried. "Harry, that sounds very risky. You could get killed."

Harry smiled ruefully. "I know. But it's the best plan we've got. And I'm not going to stand by if more innocent students get Kissed."

"What if Malfoy doesn't know what he's doing?" Hermione asked anxiously. "What if he's just going to poison you and leave you to the Dementors? I wouldn't put it past him—this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about."

Harry felt offended, as though she had insulted him and not Malfoy. "Your letter indicated that you think working with Malfoy might be a good idea."

"Yes, on a potion that's been done before! On something that you could just follow directions to brew. Not on some idea Malfoy came up with and persuaded you to do. I'm a little surprised you're putting your faith in him."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You said yourself he's a skilled potion-maker. And in the past few months that we've been making the Felix Felicis, we've hardly bickered about anything. Besides, I hardly believe he's going to poison me when he insists he should take the poison himself!"

Hermione looked thrown back for a moment. She then said quietly, "I didn't realize how close you two have become."

"We're not—" Harry began, but realized that was pointless to deny. "In any case, I trust Malfoy to make the correct poison and antidote. I really think we stand a chance."

Hermione smiled slightly. "I don't want you getting hurt, Harry. I thought once the War passed, you'd stop attracting so many dangerous situations."

"I'm an Auror, Hermione. It's become a way of life." Harry gave her a small smile.

"Very well. I suppose I can't change your mind." She looked at him with concern. "Just be wary of Malfoy. I don't trust that he's fully gone back on his Death Eater days."

Harry opened his mouth, but then thought it was useless to argue. Malfoy himself had pointed out that the Dark Mark, whether active or not, always made people wary. "Alright. I'll keep an eye out."

"I know it might be useless to say, but do be careful, Harry."

With another pop, the green flames disappeared and Harry found himself staring at the cold, black hearth again.

* * *

Thanks for reading! (I hope this chapter wasn't too grim...) Please review!


	11. Chapter Eleven

**A/N:** Thanks again for all your reviews! Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

In order to create any poison, Malfoy had pointed out, they would need Mandrake roots. So sometime a week after the Dementor attack, they went to Neville's greenhouse again and asked if he could spare a few roots. Neville had looked at Malfoy suspiciously, but seeing Harry's pleading look, relented.

"Alright. But be very careful when you pull them out. Mandragora's cries are fatal." Neville pulled on a pair of earmuffs and went to another part of the greenhouse to work on a very energetic bush that was trying to nip him.

Harry and Malfoy pulled on pairs of very thick kid gloves. Two pairs of bulky earmuffs lay next to the two pots of mature Mandrake roots they were about to pull out. Two small, sharp daggers also lay on the table by these items, to be used to cut the roots.

"You remember how to do this, don't you?" Malfoy asked. "I've done this about a dozen times in the past few years, so I'll know what to do, but I can't instruct you while we're wearing earmuffs."

They had also spelled the greenhouse to insulate sound. If someone accidentally heard the noise while wandering close by the classroom, it would be the last thing they'd ever hear.

"Well, we'll just pull them out, cut off the leaves, then cut the body up quickly so it stops crying," Harry said.

Malfoy frowned. "That's the general idea, I suppose. They'll try to bite too, and they're not as harmless as they look."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Is anything I deal with harmless?"

Malfoy smiled. "True enough. Let's get started."

They put on their earmuffs and proceeded to dig up the plants. Harry was surprised at how well the earmuffs worked—as they dug the roots out, he watched as the distorted humanoid faces cringed and moved their lips to cry out, but heard nothing whatsoever. He supposed if he _had_ heard anything, he'd probably drop dead right then, so he shouldn't have been so surprised.

Harry watched as Malfoy worked methodically. He was holding the part between the leaves and the roots and shaking the plant to rid it of soil; he then placed the plant-creature carefully on the table, where it squirmed like a newborn child. Malfoy then used a little water bottle with a curved and narrow end to splash the roots and clean it further. The plant squeezed its eyes shut and flailed its arms about more forcefully. Harry turned back to his own plant and did the same, cautiously pulling the roots out and shaking them free of excess soil. He then placed his Mandrake on the table, washed it down, and watched Malfoy again.

Malfoy was now cutting off the leaves of the Mandrake with a sharp dagger. The creature immediately writhed and twisted, opening its mouth wider to scream. Malfoy held the midsection of the plant with his left hand and swiftly cut the plant in half. The creature suddenly stopped flailing and lay still. After examining the procedure for another moment, Harry did the same with his Mandrake, feeling a bit remorseful as he cut it in half; he had to remind himself again that it was a plant—it would have certainly been much easier if it didn't have human features.

They chopped up the roots into cube-sized portions—Malfoy worked quickly and precisely, hardly stopping, while Harry wasn't accustomed to the method and worked slower and more awkwardly. After finishing with the roots, Malfoy picked up handfuls of them at a time and pushed the ingredients into a small pouch.

Being absolutely sure that the Mandrakes would not cry now that they were cube-sized, Harry and Malfoy took the earmuffs off their heads. Malfoy's hair got caught in the band for a moment, and several of his carefully slicked-back tendrils fell out of place, sticking outward in a ridiculous fashion. Harry smiled at the sight. Something in his stomach quivered.

Malfoy scowled and attempted to smooth down his hair again, but it appeared that only the Sleekeazy's potion could do anything to smooth it down effectively.

"We should get going if we're going to start this new potion," Malfoy finally said, not bothering to fix his hair anymore.

Harry thanked Neville for allowing them to get the Mandrake roots and they left the greenhouse. As Harry and Malfoy walked back toward the Dungeons, Harry inquired about the new potion they would create. Harry was certain now that he'd made the right decision to create the poison and the antidote. They would need a full-proof plan if they wanted to defeat the Dementors and prevent another attack. Also, they still had no idea how many Dementors actually resided outside the castle and how they'd even managed to enter Hogwarts.

"You mentioned that the ingredients for the poison wouldn't be difficult to get. But what about the antidote? How does that work?" Harry glanced at Malfoy as they walked.

"Well, it's rather simple, really," Malfoy began. Every time he spoke about Potions, his voice took on the tone of a teacher, flowing leisurely and knowledgeably. "I'm going to be following Golpalott's third law for creating an antidote."

Harry gave him a confused look. "Golpa-what's third law?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Potter. Sometimes I wonder why you went to school, if not to learn anything. Golpalott's law states that, 'the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components.'"

Harry thought about this. "So we have to find an opposite for every ingredient in the poison—and something else? Something besides every ingredient that's an antidote to each ingredient in the poison?"

"Yes. We have to essentially find the opposite of every ingredient as well as an item that will represent the poison itself, which will be beyond the sum of the components."

Harry raised one eyebrow. "And you've found the ingredient that's beyond everything else?"

Malfoy nodded. "It will have to represent memory, because that's central to our poison."

"Do you know what all the ingredients will be—for the poison and for the antidote?" Harry asked, wondering how much Malfoy had already thought about this potion. They hadn't spoken about it in months and Harry had only agreed to do the poison last week.

Malfoy hesitated, then said: "I know all the ingredients. I know all the procedures. I've planned everything. All that has to be done is the potion itself."

Harry stopped walking abruptly. He gave Malfoy an incredulous look. "So these past few months, even though I wasn't going to help you—even after I disagreed wholeheartedly—you continued planning all this? You've thought of everything?"

Malfoy had stopped in the middle of the hallway as well. He pursed his lips. "Yes. And in fact, I already have a good majority of the ingredients for it. Abercrombie came in handy, like I told you—"

"But why?" Harry interrupted. "Why did you do all this work even when you knew I wouldn't help you?" Harry paused and considered it further. "I mean, really, you've been doing my job more than _I_ have been."

Malfoy didn't say anything and simply looked at Harry.

Harry sighed. "I guess, what I really don't understand is—why are you getting so wrapped up in all this? I only asked for help with the Felix Felicis. And now—now you're willing to _poison_ yourself to kill these Dementors!"

Malfoy seemed unsure how to reply. He gave Harry a long look before saying, "Potter, I've tried to explain it before. I want the Wizarding world to recognize me for something other than being a Death Eater. I want to discover a method to effectively kill a Dementor—firstly, to improve my reputation in this godforsaken school, and secondly…" He paused there and looked stoic. "To prevent something like a Dementor attack from happening ever again."

Harry could see that it would be a while before Malfoy had accepted Mafalda's death. Though Malfoy usually tried not to show any inner turmoil, it seemed that, lately, the façade was slipping in front of Harry.

Suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching them from the direction of the Great Hall, striding toward them. Harry watched as Malcolm Whitby rounded the corner and saw them standing in the middle of the hallway. He looked surprised to find Harry and Malfoy there, but after the initial shock, his lips curved into a rather unpleasant smirk. He approached them more slowly.

"Harry, I'm surprised to find you, of all people, in the company of this vermin," Whitby said, glancing at Malfoy with a look of disgust. Malfoy returned this look with ferocity.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "While Malfoy's not the most pleasant company at times, I could think of someone worse to be around."

Whitby's eyebrows flew into his dark blond hair. "Really, Harry, I'm even more surprised at your attitude. I would think that the Boy Who Lived—our Savior, as some would call you—would be a little less trustworthy of a Death Eater."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Malfoy's hand slip into his pocket, presumably to pull out his wand. Harry glanced back at Whitby. "_Former_ Death Eater," he corrected. "_I'm_ a little surprised that these prejudices aren't behind us yet. Has Malfoy done anything Death Eater-ish in the past three years?"

Whitby scowled. "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater—that's what I say. I wouldn't consort with any of the Slytherin lot if I were you, Harry. They're sickeningly tied to their pureblooded ways. They only breed with each other and produce hateful, ill-mannered children. Of course, I would know, since I deal with their lot in my classes every day."

Harry couldn't have been more disgusted with this man. He noted that Malfoy was almost bursting with anger as his fingers twitched over the hawthorn wand.

"They're only kids, Whitby," Harry replied. "What you put them through is shameful. Expecting them to do sixth year material, giving them detention for no reason, not allowing Hogsmeade visits? I would have expected better from a Hufflepuff, of all Houses."

Whitby looked flabbergasted. "What I put them through? Come on now, Harry! Some harmless detention? Taking away a few Hogsmeade privileges? I hardly think that counts as barbaric behavior on my part."

Malfoy seemed as though he'd heard enough. "Harmless detention? You've harassed my youngest students about their not knowing how to conjure! You've taken away Quidditch rights and broomsticks! I honestly wouldn't be surprised if you've performed an Unforgivable or two on them."

Whitby turned white, and then snarled, "You have no right to question my methods. You, a Death Eater, were allowed to return to teach out of pity! Your students are worthless scum—they're the products of interbreeding from generation upon generation of pureblooded bigotry!"

Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it directly at Whitby's nose, looking dead serious."No more bigotry than I hear retching out of your mouth."

Whitby looked down his nose at the wand and appeared to pale. Malfoy wasn't one to pass up on curses, after all, so he had good reason to be afraid.

Harry could tell that Malfoy would do something regrettable if Whitby said anything else. Harry stepped forward and pressed his hand down on Malfoy's right arm. Malfoy glowered at Harry but didn't relent. "Leave it, Potter. He deserves anything I curse him with and you know it."

Harry pressed harder and said, "He's more trouble that he's worth, Malfoy. You don't want to give yourself a worse name than you already have by cursing him."

Malfoy seemed to consider this and finally dropped his hand to the side.

Whitby narrowed his eyes and smirked, realizing he wasn't about to be hexed. Gaining confidence, he said, "I suppose it's that insufferable Mafalda that has your knickers in such a twist, Malfoy. She was a good student of yours, wasn't she?"

His question went unanswered, as both Harry and Malfoy stood tensely. Malfoy was clutching his wand edgily, as though reconsidering drawing it back.

Whitby smirked. "Yes, she was an excellent Slytherin. Proud, big-mouthed, nosy, and intolerable. She made all my classes difficult. And she wasn't even that good at Transfiguration—"

"You bastard!" Malfoy yelled, his hands fisting. "She was brilliant at Transfiguration! She'd learnt cross-species transfiguration by second year and self-transfiguration by third! In fact, I taught her most of it because she never learned anything in _your_ bloody class! You were always too busy giving her detentions for asking too many questions!"

Whitby looked enraged for a moment, but then his features smoothed into a particularly nasty leer. "Well, wasn't that an accomplishment? And what does she have to prove for it, Malfoy?" He smiled. "A soul-less body."

That struck one of Harry's nerves. Malfoy stepped forward.

Whitby's smile grew. "Yes. Nasty little Mafalda went and got her soul sucked up. I must say, my class won't miss her. I couldn't be more pleased with the way this has turned out. It's almost as if the Dementors _want_ to punish the Slytherins—"

Whitby's statement was cut short when Harry rushed forward and in one blow, punched Whitby in the face. Whitby went sailing to the floor, unprepared for the attack. Harry stood over him, ready to hit him again if he dared say anything else.

"Potter—what in Merlin's name--?" Malfoy started, his voice more alarmed now than angered.

Whitby was staring at Harry with an astounded expression on his white face. "H-harry? You? Why do _you_ care?"

"I knew Mafalda," Harry glowered at the man lying at his feet, whose nose was slowly swelling and bleeding from one nostril. "And while she was, as you said, insufferable, she was also a great witch. You and your methods disgust me. There's nothing worse to me than someone who turns his back on what he stands for— you sure as hell the worst Hufflepuff I've ever met."

Whitby got up slowly, as though unsure if he should expect another attack. Malfoy watched him with repulsion. Harry turned on his heel and strode toward the Dungeons, not bothering to see if Malfoy followed him. But sure enough, he heard Malfoy's footsteps behind him, hurrying to catch up. Harry threw open the storage room door and entered the dimly-lit room.

"You know, a simple curse would've done the job," Malfoy said behind him. "He'd just wanted to get a rise out of us. It's not the first time he's said those sorts of things."

Harry sat down at the little desk and ran his hands through his hair. He couldn't believe he'd just attacked the man.

"Although, after all that talk of reputation and him not being worth it—if anyone was going to punch him," Malfoy continued, sitting down opposite Harry. "I would've least expected it to be you."

Harry sighed heavily and glanced at Malfoy. The latter looked grim and pale. Whitby's words had obviously affected him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"I never knew," Harry said slowly. "I never knew he was so cruel. He has no reason to be so vicious to a little girl who died."

"Maybe he doesn't have a reason to be malevolent toward Mafalda," Malfoy began, "but he does have reasons to hate Death Eaters."

Harry looked up sharply. "What?"

Malfoy glanced at the rows of potion ingredients. "From what I've heard, Whitby's lost his entire family to Death Eater activities back in the War. His wife was tortured with the Cruciatus and then killed with the Avada Kedavra. His children were killed as well."

Shock and revulsion swam in Harry's stomach. He placed his head into his hands and closed his eyes. He was tired of everyone being so complex—not entirely wicked, not entirely good. He'd hated Whitby for being so insensitive and callous about Mafalda and the rest of the Slytherins. But he could see how so much grief and suffering could cause a man to become prejudiced. And Malfoy—he had been entirely fiendish and immoral up until the end of the War, when it was revealed that Malfoy had deep ties to his family, and who now faced a hateful community who still considered him a Death Eater. And who was now helping Harry defeat Dementors and showing that he could care about others under precise circumstances.

"Potter?" Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry raised his head and looked at Malfoy. The latter returned his look with concern.

"I just—I know what it's like to lose your entire family to a Death Eater. Or rather, Voldemort himself," Harry finally said, not knowing how else to describe his reaction.

Malfoy was staring at him with an intense expression. He reached out his hand, bringing it toward Harry's forehead. He paused and Harry's heart quickened. After another moment, Malfoy brushed his bangs out of the way and touched Harry's scar. His fingers felt cool again, just like the time by the lake. Harry found the touch bizarrely relaxing.

"I wonder what it must be like not to have parents," Malfoy said slowly.

Harry shrugged slightly, blushing at Malfoy's gesture. "It's definitely not the greatest thing in the world. Especially when you grow up with the kind of legal guardians _I_ had."

Malfoy pulled his hand back from Harry's forehead and raised his eyebrows. "And what kind did you have?"

Harry found himself telling Malfoy about the Dursleys. About the way he'd grown up not knowing he was a wizard, and what importance he held to the Wizarding world. How they'd treated him like a house elf, locking him up in a cupboard and making him attend to everyone at all times. How wonderful it was when Hagrid showed up to that rickety house on the island before his first year to offer him a whole new world. It still felt strange, telling Malfoy these sorts of things.

"And you never knew?" Malfoy was bewildered. "That whole time, you never knew that _you_ were Harry Potter?"

Harry laughed. "No. I suppose I didn't know I was Harry Potter."

"I was quite annoyed that time on the train, when we first met—I mean, I know we'd really met in the robes shop, but I didn't recognize you then," Malfoy said, looking lost in memories. "I assumed you were a pompous prick because you didn't want to be my friend."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So _I_ was a pompous prick? Who was it that insulted my friends and acted like everything was beneath him? I hardly think I qualify."

"I guess I was a little insufferable." Malfoy shrugged, as though that excused it.

Harry scoffed. "A little by a long shot."

"Well, I'm being nicer now, am I not?" Malfoy crossed his arms. "I've hardly made jokes about Granger, the Weasel, or the oaf."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I suppose it's an improvement."

Malfoy got up to check on their Felix Felicis potion, which was milky blue and frozen over; it had been in that state for two weeks now, and in another week should turn jade green in color, when they'd have to unfreeze it. Another two cauldrons sat next to the Felix Felicis potion, both empty at the moment. Since the Mandrake root was imperative to starting the poison, they had waited until they'd acquired it to start the potion and its antidote.

"You said you have all the ingredients already?" Harry asked, standing up to walk toward the three cauldrons. "And you have all the procedures written?"

Malfoy nodded absently as he perused the shelves for something.

"How long will it take?"

Malfoy turned to face him, having pulled a vial from the shelves. "Maybe a month or so. Not quite so long as the Felix Felicis, at least."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he heard footsteps outside the storage room door. Malfoy paused to listen as well. They heard young students' voices speaking in nervous tones. It sounded as if they were striding through the hallway in a hurry.

Then, a male voice sounded: "I don't bloody know where he'd be! I just know he's always hanging around Potter these days!"

Malfoy and Harry exchanged looks. Then, decisively, Malfoy strode toward the door of the storage room and threw it open. The students' voices immediately ceased and Harry heard their footsteps backtracking toward Malfoy's storage room.

"Professor Malfoy?" Harry heard a young girl say quietly. The voice sounded familiar. Harry followed Malfoy into the hallway and saw the two third-year students who had been friends of Mafalda's—Tracey Higgs and Graham Pritchard—standing in the middle of the corridor, looking particularly tense. At the sight of Harry, Graham crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes; Tracey's fear-stricken face became more hopeful.

"What's going on?" Malfoy demanded. "Why are you looking for me?"

Graham looked at Malfoy evenly. "Hestia Paddock has gone missing."

"We haven't seen her since dinner last night," Tracey added. She bit her bottom lip and gave Malfoy a worried look.

Malfoy's eyebrows knitted. "She's been gone for a whole day? No one's seen her?"

The two students nodded slowly.

"Who's Hestia Paddock?" Harry asked, not understanding the significance of the exchange, other than the fact that a student was missing.

Graham rolled his eyes and muttered, "Figures. You Gryffindors are always stuck in your own House and never give a damn about the goings-on of anyone else."

"I haven't been at Hogwarts in three years," Harry snapped. "I don't even know students from my own House."

"Hestia is a first-year Slytherin student," Malfoy said, answering Harry's question. "She was a pureblood, like Mafalda. So of course this will go unnoticed by the other Houses, especially those with a grievance against Death Eaters."

Harry caught the unspoken jibe at Whitby. "What do you think happened to her?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Graham said indignantly, as though they were missing the main point. "The Dementors have her."

Malfoy looked at Graham sharply. "I hardly think you can just jump to that conclusion—"

"It's true," Tracey interrupted. "Hestia wasn't ever a troublemaker. She hardly wanders off on her own and she's quite a sensitive girl. In fact, I think yesterday Whitby gave her detention and she left dinner crying. She does that every time he picks on her—the first time he did that, I remember finding her, crying her eyes out, in a bathroom stall."

"In that case, what if she's just hiding out somewhere and still crying?" Harry suggested. "Maybe she didn't want to face Whitby again today?"

Tracey shook her head. "She's usually over it after a couple of hours. We haven't seen her at any meal today. And other first years said they haven't seen her all day."

Harry exchanged a worried look with Malfoy.

"Well, keep an eye out then," Malfoy said. "I think it's a bit early to jump to any conclusions, though."

Graham and Tracey didn't look as though they agreed, but after a few more exchanges, the two students left, heading toward the Slytherin common room. Harry was left out in the hallway with a very pensive-looking Malfoy.

Harry gave him another apprehensive look. "Do you really think another Dementor might have attacked?"

Malfoy pursed his lips. "If so, where's the body? Last time it happened, the Dementor just attacked and disappeared. This situation is quite different."

"I agree," Harry began, "but I have a strange feeling that the Dementor might have wanted to appear less suspicious this time."

"What?" Malfoy asked, startled. "You're talking as if the Dementor is some kind of serial killer. As if it plots and schemes and considers the consequences of its actions."

Harry looked grim. This is exactly what Hagrid had warned Harry of—Dementors being as smart and cunning as the next human criminal.

"Yes, Malfoy. I think that's precisely what it does."

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Thanks for reading! Please review!


	12. Chapter Twelve

**A/N:** Thanks to all who've been reading this! Believe it or not, this story will be drawing to a close soon. There will be sixteen chapters in total, I think. Thanks to all my faithful reviewers!

If anybody is curious, Mafalda was actually a character that J.K. Rowling had planned to use in the Goblet of Fire, so her personality and traits (and relation to the Weasleys) were not made up. All other OC's (like Whitby and Graham and Tracey) are fictional, however. I just thought I'd let you guys know, in case you were wondering where some of these characters came from.

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Chapter Twelve

The initial reaction to Hestia Paddock going missing was McGonagall's distress that Hogwarts was no longer safe and would have to close. Of course, after the number of times she had said this and the school continued operating, the distress went mostly unnoticed by everyone else.

Mafalda, the Dementor's victim, had been a pureblooded Slytherin. Hestia, the girl who had gone missing only a week after Mafalda had been Kissed, was also a pureblooded Slytherin. The odds were that many war-torn, bitter students, and several professors, didn't think the events were completely unrelated. Or that they were unfortunate.

"I don't understand how Slytherins can even lose their souls," Harry overheard Whitby talking to another professor at breakfast. "I mean, they don't have one to begin with!"

The other professor just laughed with him and Harry quelled the desire to strike Whitby again.

All over school, the rumor had spread that the Slytherins had been cursed. Quite a handful of students, from all varieties of Houses, from all varieties of years, believed that the children of the Slytherin Death Eaters were receiving their comeuppance. Here was the retribution the Light side of the War was receiving for dead relatives, broken families, and terrorized childhoods.

"How could they even think that?" Harry burst out one afternoon, as Malfoy and he were brewing the poison. "What did these innocent Slytherin children have to do with a war that happened three years ago? That, in fact, has been going on for longer than many of them have been alive!"

Malfoy gave him a bored look. "Potter, you're beating a dead horse. You know I couldn't agree more. Now stop pacing around and hand me some newts' eyes."

Harry did as asked and sat down in front of the cauldron that contained the brewing poison. Malfoy added some type of powdered plant to the potion and it began steaming heavily. They had been working on the poison for several weeks now, and it showed enormous progress. Since it hadn't blown up yet, as many failed potions tend to do, Harry decided their plan might work after all.

Although Malfoy had considered what Harry had suggested about the Dementors being smart enough to watch their own tracks in attacking students, he still didn't seem to believe it. Harry was entirely sure of the fact, but couldn't understand why it was Slytherin students who were being solely targeted. He didn't know if it was just coincidence or if there really was a message they were supposed to grasp.

When Harry had met with the Aurors to discuss the issue, they had set aside extra hours to watch the Dungeons and Slytherin corridors and other parts of the castle. Harry had stood outside the storage room several times that week, but no new activity had occurred.

Presently, he was helping Malfoy stir the poison in a clockwise direction, after it had stopped steaming.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked as they worked. "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's the middle of April, and it's still as cold down here as it was in February."

Malfoy didn't spare him a glance as he crushed what appeared to be dried red bat ears with a mortar and pestle. "It's been a little more frigid here than usual," he finally said. "But it's not strange temperature for the Dungeons. You Gryffindors are lucky you live in a Tower and not under the Black Lake. It gets quite moldy down here."

Harry shivered and considered wearing warmer robes tomorrow.

Malfoy glanced at Harry, noticing his movement, and smirked. "Really, Potter. It's not that cold. And if you're so afraid of freezing to death, I could always do a Warming Spell."

That reminded Harry of their experience with gathering puffer fish and leeches in the Black Lake, under subfreezing weather and with the prospects of being stung by stonefish. "No, thanks. I don't want to be reminded of what happened the last time you used a Warming Spell."

Malfoy seemed to remember it as well. "I must say, you get yourself in the worst situations. I don't know of anyone who's ever been stung by a stonefish. You're lucky I had the potion for it. And got you indoors in time."

Stirring the potion, Harry was hit with the realization of how true that statement was. He really didn't know what he would've done without Malfoy's help, other than going to the Infirmary and explaining how he even got stung in the first place.

"I guess I never really thanked you properly for it," Harry said, looking at Malfoy with sincere gratitude.

Malfoy seemed to sense the seriousness in Harry's voice and glanced at him. "You don't need to sound so thankful. It's not like I could've just left you there."

"It's something you wouldn't have hesitated to do a few years ago," Harry replied evenly.

That caused Malfoy to pause. They regarded one another for another moment, before Malfoy finally glanced away and said, "I suppose things have changed."

Harry had nothing to say to that. They continued working on the poison in silence, occasionally adding ingredients and stirring the Felix Felicis as well. As the afternoon drew on, they began the antidote in the third cauldron. Harry wasn't sure how they would manage toiling with three potions brewing all at once, but Malfoy seemed capable of figuring out exactly when a cauldron needed to be stirred and when something new needed to be added.

After a while, Harry's thoughts drifted to consider exactly how they would defeat the Dementors.

"Malfoy, what if we can't find them?"

Malfoy was startled by the question and almost added too much wormwood to the antidote. He glanced at Harry crossly. "Can't find the Dementors? What kind of question is that?"

Harry sat cross-legged and chopped asphodel roots on a cutting board stationed on the floor as he spoke. "Other than the one in the Whomping Willow passage, we have no idea where they are. No clue where they might be hiding. I think that could definitely put a dent in our plan."

Malfoy shrugged. "I hardly think that's a problem. We'll go looking for them when we're done with the poison and the antidote. And if we can't find the rest of them, we'll just kill the one in the Whomping Willow passage. I think the most important thing now is to concentrate on brewing the potions."

Harry's eyebrows knit. He wasn't sure if he should voice his concern, but decided that he needed to mention it.

"What if the poison doesn't work?"

He received silence in reply. Malfoy ceased working on the potion and regarded Harry. He pursed his lips and finally said, "You can't tell me you have doubts now."

"I need to know what else I can do," Harry said, his voice quieting, spilling fears he'd been harboring for months. Fears that had been resurrected from his third year. "I can't just walk into a group of Dementors and offer myself up as bait. I haven't gone through all this just to have my soul sucked out, Malfoy."

"We haven't decided who's going to take the poison yet!" Malfoy replied angrily. "Stop acting like a martyr, Potter. I'm just as willing to poison myself. After all, I created the potion, so I should be the one to test it."

Harry stood to his feet. "No matter how much I'm afraid of what'll happen, I'm not letting you take it. You've done enough as it is with designing a poison and antidote out of thin air. The least I can do is take the poison."

"Well, if you're so convinced about it, then what's the problem?" Malfoy asked, standing up as well. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. Why are you backing out and stepping forward all at the same time? What are you trying to say?"

They faced each other across the cauldron containing the poison. Malfoy looked confused and tense all at once, while Harry gazed at him with frustration and dread.

"I just need to know I have a back-up plan," Harry finally said. "I'd want, more than anything, to know I can do a Patronus if I needed to—if something goes wrong with the poison and it doesn't work. I feel helpless with just the hope that this poison doesn't fail standing between living and losing my life."

Looking very determined, Malfoy strode around the cauldron to stand only a foot from Harry, who was suddenly uncertain about how Malfoy would react. Malfoy looked at him with an intense expression, pouring his grey eyes into Harry's. He grabbed Harry by his shoulders and didn't break eye contact.

"Then what's stopping you, Potter?" he demanded. "Why don't you produce a Patronus—right here and right now?"

Harry was startled by the forcefulness in Malfoy's demeanor. He felt Malfoy's hands clutching his shoulders strongly and compellingly and the incessant, resolute look in his eyes.

"I can't. I've told you that I tried so many times—"

"Well, have you tried recently?" Malfoy asked. "When was the last time you tried to produce it?"

Harry was hesitant. "Back in January—"

Malfoy gripped his shoulders more forcefully. "Then try again!"

Malfoy was looking at him as though he believed it to be possible, for Harry to produce a Patronus again. Harry examined Malfoy's expression more fully: There were bags under his eyes, most likely from sleepless nights of considering the effects and inner workings of the poison and its antidote, but presently his eyes had also taken on a feverish shine. That particular gaze made Harry's stomach drop, and not quite knowing why he felt compelled to agree, Harry nodded.

Malfoy released his shoulders and stepped back, looking less demanding. Instead, the corner of his lips twitched upward and he smiled slightly in encouragement. Harry stepped backward and pulled his phoenix wand out of his robes pocket.

"Although I doubt anything will happen, you might want to stand back," Harry said as he raised his wand.

Malfoy did so and watched Harry carefully, as though he might learn how it was done just by looking.

Harry closed his eyes and dove into his memories, trying to think of something powerful enough to produce a Patronus. At first, he thought back to his days in school with Ron and Hermione. But those memories felt so long ago, that he couldn't quite find a particular moment when he was immensely happy—all his recollections seemed to have become strung together and he couldn't tell them apart. And the more he thought back, the more recent memories flocked to the forefront of his mind.

He remembered the past four or so months of gathering ingredients and brewing potions with Malfoy. He recalled the time he'd first revealed something immensely personal to Malfoy, about his godfather and the significance he'd held to Harry. He recalled the conversations they'd shared in this very room, only with the quiet bubbling of a cauldron in the background.

Then Harry recalled something particular—the time they'd gone looking for toad's feet and Malfoy had slipped in the mud. And when Harry had helped him up, he had seen the Dark Mark on Malfoy's left arm. Harry presently reddened as he remembered touching Malfoy's arm as he traced the Mark and Malfoy bringing his hand to Harry's forehead to trace the scar. Although the exchange wasn't in its nature as intimate as if say, they had kissed, it was certainly not platonic. And Harry now felt how very personal the occurrence had been and that he didn't consider it just a friendly gesture.

With this memory in mind, Harry raised his wand higher, keeping his eyes closed and suddenly said, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

At first, nothing happened. Then, Harry opened his eyes and saw a large, white, and wispy figure springing out of the tip of his wand. The stag leapt into the air, illuminating the room with bright, silvery light, as it bounded toward the ceiling.

Harry and Malfoy watched the brilliant form, both astounded at how magnificent and vivid it was. Harry glanced at Malfoy and caught his eye. Malfoy gave him a bright smile, and his eyes looked more shining and excited than ever. Harry felt the same way he'd felt the first time he'd produced a Patronus. Lightheaded and happy, as though there was no spell he couldn't do if he didn't try hard enough. The shining stag filled him with hope that even if something went wrong when they finally tried the potion, at least Harry could protect himself—and Malfoy—from the Dementor's Kiss.

Finally, Harry dropped his wand and the stag dissipated into thin air. He felt a bit drained by the amount of concentration he'd had to use just to perform the spell, but nonetheless happier than he'd felt in a while.

Malfoy neared him, still smiling slightly. "See? I told you it was still possible. You just had to find the right memory."

Harry nodded, grinning back at him.

"Which one did you pick, if you don't mind me asking?" Malfoy asked, as he sat down by the cauldrons again, to begin working.

Harry sat down across from him and picked up the asphodel roots. He wasn't sure if Malfoy would feel offended by the memory or if he should just lie and say he'd picked another.

"Er…I picked that time at the lake, when we were gathering toads' feet."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Was that a particularly happy memory—wading in mud to look for toads?" He smirked. "Well, Potter, now I know what you consider a good time."

"Not that part!" Harry replied impatiently. "The part after you fell in the mud, when I saw your Mark."

Malfoy ceased smiling and took the statement more seriously. "When you saw my Mark?"

"Yes," Harry said, reddening again. "And when you—er, touched my scar and I touched your—For Merlin's sake, this all just sounds so awkward! You know what I'm talking about!"

Malfoy laughed at Harry's embarrassed face and rambling words. "God, Potter, you're making it sound as though we did something a lot more sexual than just touched each other's scars."

Harry huffed. "Even that still sounds sexual."

Malfoy smirked. "So that was the memory you used? Something that happened between us, and wasn't quite sexual, but enough to make you turn red and stutter over your words? Although, firstly, I can't believe you picked a memory with me in it as your happiest." His tone was challenging, as though he wanted Harry to rationalize his decision.

"Sod off, Malfoy. I'm not explaining myself," Harry said, crossing his arms. He was a little upset that Malfoy wasn't taking him very seriously and that Harry had even mentioned the memory.

"Fair enough. It was your memory, so I suppose you could've made it out to be anything you wanted," Malfoy said, still smirking. "Perhaps your Patronus worked because you _wanted_ the memory to have been sexual."

Harry turned even redder and snapped, "You prick! This is the last time I share something private with you!"

"Alright, fine, I'll stop pestering you. Are those asphodel roots done yet? You've only worked on them for half an hour now."

Harry handed over the finely chopped roots and began working on another ingredient. Malfoy seemed to have become more serious now that they were working on the poison again, and the looming threat of a Dementor attack hanged over their heads. But after another twenty minutes of steady, silent work, Malfoy looked up at Harry and caught his eye.

"Potter? I know you told me you and the Weasley girl weren't seeing each other at the moment, but—do you plan to? In the future?" He asked, his voice curious but also hinting that the answer was actually quite important.

Harry hesitated, because he really wasn't sure. "I wasn't planning on it, really. I kind of left that road open, like you say, for the future."

Malfoy looked down at some green powder he was pouring into a cup. "I see. So you're not sure yet?"

Harry shook his head. "As you can tell, my work kind of isolates me from people sometimes. I don't think I'd be around enough for a relationship, especially with someone who's also in a full-time career. Why do you ask anyway?"

"No reason. I was just curious and what with all this talk of sexual things…" he drifted off, not quite smiling this time.

Harry sensed some kind of closure on Malfoy's part, and picked up the conversation. "Well, how about you? You said you've been pretty busy these past few years, but with all this time we're spending in your storage room, I think you'd find time for a relationship."

Malfoy smiled dryly. "I really don't think I'd interest anybody. After all, my reputation is in shreds."

"Well, there must be some girl in this school who'd find you attractive. I mean, there's so many women professors—"

"Potter, I'm not interested in any of the women here."

Harry ceased chopping his scurvy-grass and frowned at Malfoy. "You probably haven't even met many of them. Honestly, Malfoy, if you just looked around a little, and maybe smiled a little more—"

Malfoy looked at Harry dead in the eye. "Potter, believe me when I say no woman will interest me."

"I don't understand why you won't give just one of them a chance—"

But this time he interrupted himself, because Malfoy was giving him a very deadpan look and because his words had finally taken root. Harry dropped his knife and his eyes widened as he stared at Malfoy in a new light.

Malfoy stared back at him, not saying anything, but seeming to fully expect Harry to begin barraging him with questions or burst out in anger or stand up and do something drastic.

But what Harry did instead was nothing. He simply said, "I see." And he went back to cutting up his scurvy-grass. Realizing that he wouldn't do anything else, Malfoy continued measuring his green powder. And the rest of the day went in silence.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please review!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**A/N:** Well, this is the longest chapter yet. I hope you enjoy it. :)

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

A week later, Harry was breakfasting with Ron and a few of the other Aurors, when Ron revealed more dark news about the Dementors.

"We haven't seen them _anywhere_, Harry," Ron said quietly, as though hoping no one else would hear, although they were sitting within easy earshot of anyone who might listen in. "We've all been standing around the hallways in shifts, and we still haven't seen them. I don't understand how or where they're hiding."

Harry frowned. "How do you even know they're in the castle? Maybe they attack from the outside? Maybe that Hestia girl was on the Hogwarts grounds when they attacked?"

The other Aurors were listening in carefully, and one replied, "There's been a lot of suspect activity in the castle to suggest that they're hiding somewhere _in_ it."

"Really? What kind of activity?"

Ron gave Harry a worried look. "There's signs of 'em, Harry. It's colder than usual in the castle, especially around that place the first girl got attacked. And everyone's feeling it. You look at any student or teacher around this Hall and you'll see it. No one's smiling, no one's laughing. Hogwarts has become a tomb."

Harry glanced about the Great Hall and realized that Ron was right. Most students were bent over their breakfast plates, hardly speaking with one another, and certainly not smiling. The Slytherin students, in particular, looked about the Hall with fearful eyes, as though afraid a Dementor would swoop down from the ceiling and claim their souls. They were most likely very conscious of the curse the other Houses believed to be upon the Death Eaters' children. It appeared that they believed it themselves.

"You think they're affecting our moods?" Harry asked, suddenly apprehensive and aware of how great the threat would be if the Dementors were really in the castle.

One of the Aurors next to Harry nodded. "It only makes sense. They'd have to be very close to us to be able to do something like that. Control our moods, that is."

Ron lowered his voice even further and leaned in closer to Harry. "And there's something else. There's another reason we suspect the Dementors are really in the castle."

"What is it?" Harry asked, almost afraid to find out.

Ron gave him an anxious look. "Another Slytherin has gone missing."

Harry glanced at him sharply. "Are you serious? Why haven't I heard about this?"

"I suspect it's just a rumor now, because no one knows for sure." Ron glanced around the table again to see if anyone was listening in. "One thing's for sure though. The Dementor couldn't have gotten very far without being seen if it attacked from beyond the castle walls. It's too conspicuous, and even during nighttime, we all guard the halls, so we would've seen it."

Harry looked down at his breakfast plate, suddenly losing his appetite. "Do you know which Slytherin it was that went missing?"

One of the other Aurors nodded.

"It was a girl named Tracey Higgs."

* * *

Upon hearing the name of the missing Slytherin student, Harry went in immediate search of Malfoy. Tracey was one of his students; a girl Malfoy knew probably as well as he'd known Mafalda. Now Harry stood in front of the door to the storage room and hesitated. He wasn't sure if Malfoy had heard yet or how he would react, but if one thing was for sure, it was the attachment he felt to Malfoy, and his realization that Malfoy would need consolation now more than ever.

With this in mind, Harry opened the door determinedly and entered the room.

He caught sight of Malfoy sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, holding his head in his hands and running his fingers through his hair in anger or frustration, causing it to stick up in various angles. Malfoy glanced up at the sound of Harry striding into the room and at the sight of him, his expression smoothed from one of fury into a rigid mask. Malfoy slowly stood up from the desk and watched as Harry strode resolutely toward him.

Harry wasn't sure of what he planned to do, but walked close to Malfoy; and after an instant where they simply looked at each other—Harry staring decisively and Malfoy looking askance—Harry leaned forward and embraced Malfoy.

Malfoy immediately tensed, but if he was shocked or disgusted by this gesture, he didn't show it. Harry wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in Malfoy's messy hair, breathing in the scent of the gel-like Sleekeazy potion. He felt Malfoy's heart thud loudly and swiftly in his chest and Harry's own heartbeat quickened at this realization. After another moment, Malfoy brought his own arms around Harry and leaned in closer, relaxing slightly against him.

"So you've heard," Malfoy finally said, his voice sounding tense and quiet. "About Tracey Higgs going missing."

Harry nodded, as he released Malfoy and took a step back, hoping that gesture hadn't been too forward; but more than anything, it seemed to have calmed Malfoy. "The Aurors think the Dementors are in the castle. They're almost positive of it."

Malfoy turned away. "That's three now. Three innocent Slytherins who've become victims." He glanced down at the potions they were brewing and his gaze darkened. "How many more will it take for the debt to be repaid? For the rest of the Houses to realize that this is a serious matter and stop pretending that this is some _curse_ they've invented? I'll wager Whitby still isn't the least bit remorseful."

Harry sat down in front of the cauldron containing the poison and began crushing the dried lovage leaves he'd started on the other day. Malfoy seemed especially preoccupied and stood next to the shelves, his gaze unfocused, lost in his heavy thoughts. Harry's own thoughts alternated between considering the Dementor issue and the one surrounding himself and Malfoy, and what exactly their friendship had evolved into. Because, this was certainly not the way he felt around Ron or Hermione, and he'd been friends with them for years.

But before Harry could fully finish crushing the leaves, he heard footsteps striding toward the storage room and a sharp knock sounded at the door a few moments later. Harry jumped up from the floor immediately, just as Malfoy was pulled out of his thoughts and strode toward the door to yank it open.

It revealed Graham Pritchard, looking perhaps more jaded and narrow-eyed than usual. He seemed out of breath, as though he'd just run there and his black hair was in disarray, reminding Harry very much of his own. As though hearing his thoughts, Graham glanced briefly at Harry but quickly returned his attention to Malfoy.

"I think you two should come with me," he said without precursor.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows but didn't budge. "Is this too urgent to warrant an explanation, Graham?"

"Well, sure, Professor," Graham began sarcastically, "if you'd like your Slytherin students to be hexed any more than they're being hexed at the moment—then by all means, let's dawdle on explanations."

Malfoy's eyes immediately widened. "What? Who's doing this?"

Graham rolled his eyes. "Whitby, obviously. He's got the double Transfiguration class in there right now and he's hexing them."

Harry's pulse quickened as he realized the implications. "With what?"

"How should I know? I couldn't hear him!" Graham snapped. "And in case you haven't realized it yet—this is going on as we speak! So, as two adults with some authority, I think you should get over there and do something about it!"

Graham turned on his heel and began striding back down the hallway, toward the Transfiguration classroom, clearly expecting them to follow. Harry and Malfoy began pacing after him when Harry had an idea.

"Malfoy—you should go find McGonagall," Harry advised as they followed Graham. "If whatever's going on is serious enough, I think the Headmistress should be notified. But most importantly, she should see it for herself."

Malfoy considered this and then nodded. "Any ideas as to where she might be?"

"I think the giant gargoyle on the second floor is a good place to start. It needs a password though. Something to do with desserts and candy should do the trick."

Malfoy gave him an odd look, as though wondering how in the world he knew that, but immediately rounded a corner and headed toward the second floor. Harry continued following Graham to Whitby's classroom and strained his ears to hear any possible sound from the room they were approaching, but couldn't make out anything.

"Imperturbable Charm," Graham said, as though thinking the same thing. "He's got it soundproofed."

Harry scowled at him. "How did you even know this was happening then? I thought he taught first years around this time. You're not even in this class."

Graham's dark eyes narrowed. "I knew something was happening precisely because it's so quiet. I passed by the classroom and heard nothing, not even the shuffle of pages or student chatter. Something like this happened when we were first years in his class and I remember the eerie way he'd shut us all out and no one heard what was going on."

Trusting that Graham wasn't just going off instinct and raising an unnecessary alarm, Harry turned his gaze toward the classroom door and pulled it open.

The first thing he saw was Malcolm Whitby standing over a student with his wand pointed directly at the first year. Half the class—the half wearing Slytherin's emblem upon their robes—was sitting rigidly and unblinkingly, watching Whitby with fearful eyes. The other half—the Gryffindors—had varied reactions. Some had stood from their seats to get a closer look at the front of the room, where Whitby and the student were located, and others were sitting quietly in their seats and biting their lips or looking away.

The moment Harry entered the room with Graham in tow, all the students turned to look at him in surprise. It was obvious that they didn't get many visitors during these lessons. Whitby looked the most astonished of them all. He turned toward Harry, ignoring the first year lying on the floor for the moment, and his expression transformed from one of shock to one of revulsion.

"Harry," he said slowly, his face becoming sinister. "How nice of you to join us. I was just teaching Terence here about some more advanced spellwork."

The student at his feet looked pale, frail, and frightened, lying in a fetal position. He had squeezed his eyes shut and his entire face was overcome with pain.

Harry took a step forward, his expression darkening. "What have you done to him?"

"There's not much fun in just telling you." Whitby smiled. "So, why don't I show you instead?"

He pointed the wand at the student and wordlessly cast a spell on him. The student immediately began squirming and screaming on the floor, writhing so agonizingly that Harry couldn't watch. Tears trickled from the corners of the child's eyes as he cried out.

Harry rushed forward and grabbed Whitby's right arm forcefully, effectively stopping the curse. The boy stopped screaming instantaneously. Whitby threw Harry off his arm and snarled at him.

"What's the matter, Potter? You don't like seeing a Death Eater put in its place? I don't know what we've fought so valiantly for if only to have our most beloved people be taken out of our lives—and not punish those responsible for it!"

Harry glowered at him. "Does this child look like a Death Eater to you? Look at this eleven-year-old boy, Whitby, and tell me this is the child who killed your family."

Whitby looked as though he'd been slapped. "How dare you defame my family! I've had the only people I loved ripped out of my life by these lowlife bastards and you're telling me not to extract revenge! Besides, look at your Gryffindor counterparts. They've been quite fascinated by my little lessons—they've lost family members to those snakes as well, so they have good reason to agree with me."

The little boy at Whitby's feet whimpered very softly. Harry glanced at the on-looking students and noted that the Gryffindors didn't look quite so enthusiastic for bloodshed anymore. Many more of them were looking away in shame.

"So how long have you been using the Unforgivables, Whitby?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing. He recalled Graham's statement about his own experiences in Whitby's class. "I've heard it's been going on for years. I hope you've only taught them the Cruciatus at this point, because I certainly think someone might notice if you used the Killing Curse."

Whitby turned white and didn't say anything. Many whispers followed Harry's words. Most likely, many of the students, being so young, were just realizing what kinds of spells Whitby had been dabbling in.

Harry turned toward the rest of the students and addressed them. "I think you all have the right to know what this worthless excuse of a professor has been teaching you. The Unforgivable Curses aren't toys. I know of people who have lost their minds after being treated with the Cruciatus Curse too many times. It may look like he's not really getting hurt—he's not bleeding or dying—but you could _kill_ with these curses. There's a reason why self-respecting people don't use the Unforgivables."

A moment of silence followed Harry's words. Then—

"Valiant, Potter," Whitby sneered. "But I hardly think an adorable speech like that will come to any change of heart. These Gryffindors have quite a vendetta with the Slytherins and they always have. Suffice it to say that—"

But Whitby was interrupted when two figures burst into the classroom. Malfoy strode into the room with a determined look on his face, holding his hawthorn wand out, and the headmistress followed after him. The two paused at the sight before them—the quiet group of students sitting rigidly in their seats and watching the scene unfold before them, Harry pointing his wand at Whitby, and Whitby standing over a whimpering first year student who was looking paler and paler by the minute.

"What is the meaning of this?" McGonagall burst out. "Professor Whitby—what are you doing with that child?"

Whitby turned even whiter as his expression became livid. He calmly said, "I was simply teaching him a lesson, Headmistress."

McGonagall pursed her lips until they became a thin line. "Were you using a spell on him?"

Whitby opened his mouth, but decided against it, and instead chose not to reply.

"He used the Cruciatus Curse on him," Harry said after a few moments had passed. "I've seen it myself, Professor."

McGonagall's expression became unreadable. She looked about the room and caught sight of Graham Pritchard standing near the door, his expression narrowed and his arms crossed. She addressed him. "You've seen this happen? Is this true?"

Graham nodded slowly, his expression unchanging. "This isn't the first time it's happened. But I think it's the first time it'll be believed."

McGonagall's eyes widened. "This—this has happened before? And no one has said anything about it?"

No one volunteered a reply. Whitby was looking angrier by the moment, but it was apparent that there was nothing he could do—for once in a very long time, he didn't have absolute authority in his own classroom.

McGonagall turned toward him. "I'm appalled at your behavior, Whitby. Not only have you broken school rules, but you've also broken Wizarding law. You are dismissed from your profession. And don't attempt to leave the school. You shall be tried at the Wizengamot for your actions.

"As for the rest of you," she turned toward the first year students. "If something like this ever happens again, I expect to be informed about it. I'm shocked that you've watched fellow students be tortured and said nothing. That is shameful behavior! Some would say if you're simply a bystander in situations such as these—you are as blameworthy as the perpetrator himself."

McGonagall marched out of the room with Whitby in tow, presumably in order to make sure that he didn't attempt to escape from the school without being handed over to proper authorities. The classroom quieted as the students stared at Harry, Malfoy, and Graham, who weren't sure if they should wait for McGonagall to return.

Harry kneeled by the young first year and placed his hand on his forehead, brushing his dark hair out of the way. The student still had an agonized expression on his face, but finally opened his eyes to look at Harry. His eyes were bright green, very much the color or Harry's own, and open wide, as though afraid to be cursed again.

"Terence, wasn't it?" Harry asked quietly and the boy nodded. "Has he done this to you before?"

The brown-haired boy shook his head slowly.

"Can you stand?"

The boy nodded slightly and Harry supported the child while helping him up. Malfoy, realizing the seriousness of what Whitby had done, also bent down to help the boy.

"Graham," Malfoy addressed the third-year who'd been standing next to the door the entire time. "Go to the Infirmary and tell Madame Pomfrey that we're bringing someone in. You can tell her the details if she asks."

Graham nodded and was out the door in an instant. Harry felt the first years staring at them with wide eyes, as though questioning what they should do.

Harry turned toward them. "The rest of you stay here and wait quietly. We'll be back shortly."

Malfoy propped up the young boy, Terence, and with Harry's help, walked out of the classroom toward the Infirmary.

"As awful as the situation is," Harry began as the three of them ambled somewhat awkwardly down the hallways. "At least Whitby finally got sacked. And he did it all by himself, with no interference from the Slytherins."

Malfoy's face, which had previously been grim and pale, brightened a little. "I suppose that's true. I just hope with him gone, the trouble dies down a little. I can't believe he would do something like this to a defenseless child. For all the justice he thinks he's serving, he did as much damage to those innocent children as Death Eaters have done to him done in the past."

Harry was reminded of their seventh year, when the Carrows and Snape had taken over Hogwarts, and some punishments directed toward students did indeed include the Unforgivables, mostly because they had been legal then.

As they stepped up a group of stairs, Harry thought of something else.

"Malfoy—how did you find McGonagall so fast anyhow? I don't think you were gone for longer than twenty minutes."

Malfoy smiled slightly as he looked at Harry.

"I stood in front of that blasted gargoyle and said any combination of words that came to mind. I think I'd exhausted all my vocabulary of sweets until I came across _Sherbet Lemon_."

Harry simply laughed at this and they continued walking.

* * *

Later that night, Harry and Malfoy dined at the staff table for the first time in a while; they usually had their dinners in the storage room, but the potion brewing was winding down slowly, so they had less work to do than usual. They had gotten Terence to the Infirmary safely and were now eating a dinner of mashed potatoes and chicken quarters rather heartily.

Ron was seated at Harry's right side and he was eating with more gusto than usual.

Harry smiled and raised his eyebrows at him. "What's the hurry, Ron? Do you have guard duty tonight?"

Ron shook his head as he gulped down the potatoes. "No. Dawlish ordered some of the other Aurors and me to search the Forbidden Forrest tonight to look for the missing kids."

"But why would you think they'd be in there?" Harry asked, skeptical and confused. Hadn't Ron just told him today that they believed the Dementors were in the castle?

Ron's gaze darkened. "Well, you see Harry, only some of us think that the Dementors are in the castle. Dawlish still refuses to believe that. He thinks the incident with the first girl and the other two are unrelated."

Harry's eyes widened. "You can't be serious. Looking through the Forbidden Forrest seems like a waste of time to me. Besides, why tonight?"

Ron looked around the table and his glance fell on McGonagall, who was seated on their far left, in the middle of the staff table. "Because Dawlish thinks we're running out of time. McGonagall is planning to cave us all into the school tonight."

"What?" Harry asked, his mind spinning.

Ron continued looking down the length of the table. "Actually, it seems like she's going to announce it right now."

Harry glanced at McGonagall, who had stood up and was now clinking her goblet with a fork.

"If I may have everyone's attention," McGonagall said loudly and the Great Hall chatter died down, sensing the grave tone of her voice. "I have a very serious announcement to make, so everyone must listen to me carefully.

"In the wake of current events, it has come to my attention that Hogwarts is under great peril. I regret to say that no one is safe at Hogwarts any longer. I am sure you are all aware of the issues concerning the Dementors. Perhaps the most frightening aspect of this threat is that we don't know where these creatures are. They could attack from within or from outside the castle."

A wave of whispers rushed through the Great Hall as students turned to one another in panic and horror. It was one thing to suspect the great danger Hogwarts was in, and another to have it confirmed.

McGonagall continued despite the whispers, "In response, we've developed a plan to keep you all safe until further action is done to find the Dementors. You shall all assemble your most important belongings after dinner and come back to the Great Hall, where you'll find a sleeping bag for every one of you. The castle doors shall be completely locked up and professors, prefects, and Head boys and girls will escort you through the hallways. Remember that these rules are made for your safety. If even one of you disobeys, I can no longer guarantee your well-being. Is this clear?"

After a moment of solemn and sobering silence, the Great Hall erupted into nervous chatter and apprehensive looks. It seemed as though everyone had suddenly lost their appetites.

Harry glanced at Malfoy at his left and saw that him purse his lips.

"So now you know," Ron addressed Harry. "They're planning to close down the school for good if these attacks don't stop. And this is just the first step. But Dawlish thinks we can find the missing kids in the Forbidden Forrest, and not to waste time, we're going tonight."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. It appeared that he really had no clue what was going on within the Aurors' midst, since he had been spending so much time in Malfoy's storage room, brewing potions. But it seemed like whether or not Dawlish believed the Dementors were inside the castle or not, it might actually be a good idea to scan the grounds for any sign of their activity.

"Did Dawlish ask me to go as well?" Harry asked.

Ron hesitated. "No. He didn't ask you."

Harry's eyebrows knitted. "Why not? It seems a little strange that he'd ask you to go but not me."

"Well, Harry—now don't be angry with her, but Hermione told me what you've been doing all this time," Ron blurted out. "She's told me about how there's a potion you think might actually kill Dementors. And that you've been working on it."

At this, Harry looked at him sharply and disbelievingly. "She—she told you?"

Malfoy glanced in Ron's direction as well, having heard his revelation. Ron caught his glance and narrowed his eyes.

"Yes. She also mentioned that Malfoy was helping you. Which I found extremely difficult to believe so I dismissed it. Though now I'm starting to see it might be true."

Harry felt it wrong to let Ron believe Malfoy was simply helping him, especially while Malfoy was sitting right next to him and could hear everything. "Actually, I can hardly take much credit for the potion we're brewing. It was Malfoy who created it."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "I find that even more difficult to believe."

"So why was I not asked to help out tonight? Did you tell Dawlish about the potion?" Harry asked, trying to understand why Dawlish wouldn't want him to accompany them to the Forrest. His tone became accusatory as he wondered if Ron was simply sore that Harry had been hanging around Malfoy so much. "You've found out what I've been up to and you're upset that Malfoy and I have been working on a potion that might actually put a stop to these attacks?"

Ron looked affronted. "Of course not, Harry. How could I be upset with you for _doing your job_? I told Dawlish what you've been working on and he thinks it'll be useful for when we actually find the Dementors. He wants you to keep brewing that potion. That's why he didn't want you to help us tonight. He thinks you'll need all the time you can get to finish it."

Harry was taken aback by Ron's words. He was surprised that the potion didn't come as much bigger news to Ron or the other Aurors. He wondered how long ago Hermione had mentioned it and if Ron had simply not brought it up.

"Although," Ron began, "I _was_ a little upset that you'd never told me what you've been doing. And that I had to find out from Hermione. And I still don't understand how Malfoy got dragged into all this." He gave Malfoy a skeptical look, who returned it with a glare.

Harry sighed heavily. "I think explanations are best saved for later." He paused to peruse the Hall, "It looks like the Great Hall is emptying out and McGonagall will want everyone to get their belongings and come back."

They all looked around the Hall and noted that indeed, the students were rapidly leaving for their dormitories, escorted by the professors and older students. Ron turned back to Harry and smiled slightly.

"Well, whatever's been going on—I think it's great that we'll have some options regarding these Dementors once we find them. Like Dawlish said, I think you should continue working on that potion." He stood up and paused to scowl at Malfoy. "Even if you _are_ working with this git."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, obviously not in the mood to argue with Ron. After a few more exchanges, Ron left the Hall with several other Aurors and Harry watched him leave, presumably to scour the Forbidden Forrest. It would still be light out and Harry didn't think McGonagall would close down the castle before they returned.

Harry and Malfoy left the Hall to go to the Dungeons and check on the potions. The Felix Felicis would still take a while before it was completed, perhaps another month, according to their instructions. The poison and the antidote were nearly done.

"I think we could have these finished in several hours," Malfoy said as he stirred the antidote cauldron and consulted his handwritten notes for the potion. "There's only one more ingredient to be added to the poison and the antidote just needs to be stirred properly until it turns milky blue."

Harry smiled at hearing these words. "Great. So if the Aurors end up finding the Dementors, or at least some sign of them—we can test out the poison as soon as it's done."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sound eager to try it out," Malfoy remarked.

Harry's gaze darkened. "Well, I don't know about you, but I could hardly stand it if anyone else was attacked or went missing."

Malfoy's face turned serious upon hearing that. "I agree. I just can't help feeling that we're too late. Some of the few students I ever cared about have already become the Dementors' victims."

The sight of Mafalda's body returned to Harry as vividly as if he were seeing it all over again. Her blank and emotionless eyes frightened and distressed him the most. As Harry considered the plan McGonagall was installing to keep them locked in the Great Hall overnight, he couldn't help but remember his third year, when Dumbledore had done the same thing to keep them safe from Sirius Black, who was thought to have been roaming either outside or within the castle. Although, unlike the last time, the threat posed by their enemy was more real and dangerous than it had been before.

Harry poured himself into their potion work. While Malfoy stirred the antidote, Harry chopped up belladonna leaves. The only sound in the room was that of Harry's swift chopping on the little cutting block and Malfoy's meticulous stirring. Steam rose out of the antidote cauldron as it slowly turned milk-colored. The poison on the other hand was the color of dark sludge and appeared the consistency of it as well. After Harry finished chopping the belladonna, he left it on the cutting block and handed it to Malfoy.

"We'll add it at the moment the antidote is finished," Malfoy said and place the cutting block on the ground, by the cauldron.

Having finished preparing the last ingredient for the poison, Harry had nothing to do. Malfoy was already stirring the antidote, so Harry simply sat on the floor, with the antidote cauldron separating himself and Malfoy. He found himself examining Malfoy and watching the way he very methodically and precisely stirred the milky substance.

Harry had never realized that although Malfoy had always been an arrogant and insufferable jerk, he had also always been at the top of the class during their school years. He knew some very difficult spellwork and could do very advanced potions, even when he had to gather the ingredients himself. Most surprising of all was his newfound ability to create a poison so powerful that it could rid Hogwarts of the Dementors, as well as its antidote. Although Harry still didn't quite understand all the minor details of the poison, he had no doubts that it would work. He found that he now truly could trust Malfoy with his life.

Malfoy had folded the cuffs of his button-down white shirt and exposed his arms, most likely so that the cuffs wouldn't accidentally fall into the potion as he stirred. The Dark Mark was faintly visible in the dim light of the storage room, but as Harry gazed at it, he didn't feel the same uneasiness he felt when he'd first caught sight of it. Malfoy was watching the potion very intently and a few stray tendrils of his blond hair had come undone from the Sleekeazy's grasp and were falling into his face. Harry felt transfixed as he examined Malfoy's concentrated face; he followed the curve of his long nose and the flesh of his partly open lips, and especially noticed the slight color that had settled into his cheeks, most likely from the steam that rose into his face as he stirred.

"Potter, I don't know if you know, but your staring is rather obvious," Malfoy said suddenly, without even looking up from his potion.

Harry immediately went red, not knowing what to say to something as direct as that.

Finally, Malfoy looked up at him. "In fact, it always has been."

Harry's eyes widened considerably. His mouth went dry. "What?"

Malfoy smiled at Harry's stunned reaction. "You're probably not even aware that you're doing it half the time."

Now Harry really didn't know what to say. He supposed that he had stared at Malfoy like that before, but he had never considered it unusual. He'd never realized that Malfoy had ever noticed.

Finally, Harry looked less caught in the headlights and said, "Well, if you've noticed me staring at you before, then why haven't you ever said anything? If you just told me the first time it happened, I probably wouldn't have done it again."

Malfoy put down the stirring rod and gave him a serious look. "Potter, what if I didn't care if you've been staring at me like that?"

Harry glanced at him sharply.

"What would you say if I didn't mind it?" Malfoy asked again, his voice implying that he wasn't amused and that he wasn't just saying this to get a rise out of Harry. "What if I had never said anything because I didn't want you to stop?"

By this time, Harry was thoroughly astonished by Malfoy's words. He had known that there had been something unspoken between Malfoy and himself for quite a while now. And Harry had known that he wasn't the only one who felt it. But he didn't think the matter would ever be explored between them.

Malfoy put down the rod he'd been stirring the potion with and Harry noticed that the antidote had turned milky blue, just as Malfoy had predicted it would. Then, Malfoy threw the belladonna leaves into the poison cauldron and stirred it for the last time as the sludge turned pitch black and looked quite like tar. Malfoy then stood up and glanced down at Harry, his gaze more intense than he'd ever seen it.

"Well, Potter?" he asked quietly, his face faintly rosy. "These aren't rhetorical questions."

Harry stood up as well and stepped close to Malfoy, suddenly hesitant, but making up his mind. They stared at one another, Malfoy looking uncertain and vulnerable for putting himself on the spot, and Harry looking at him decisively.

"I suppose that I wouldn't want you to stop either."

* * *

So... that was probably a little fluffier than I wanted it to be. I hope you liked it nonetheless. (Also, the Sherbet Lemon was a reference to the second movie, which I believe used this as the password to Dumbledore's office.)

Thanks for reading! Please review!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**A/N: **Thanks so much to all who've reviewed! Also, thank you to my anonymous reviewers, whom I don't get to personally thank, so I'll use this note to give you my appreciation. :)

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Malfoy looked surprised at Harry's reply, but after a moment, the corner of his lip turned upward and he smiled slightly. They stared at one another momentarily, suddenly unsure where to go from here.

"So this entire time, you felt the same way." Malfoy began as he walked toward Harry. "You were also—"

But Harry didn't smile, knowing what Malfoy was referring to. "No, I wasn't. I've never been like that. In fact, I still don't think I am."

Malfoy stopped smiling, but didn't stop drawing near Harry. "I see. So you're not—"

Harry found himself becoming angry. "I don't like men, Malfoy! I have been straight my whole life and I think that I still am. I just don't know what it is about you, but—"

But Harry cut himself off, reddening. Malfoy regarded him carefully, like a doctor examining a patient with unfamiliar symptoms.

"Potter, you don't have to be gay to like one particular man," he finally said. "In fact, it makes more sense than anything that you're not gay. We've spent an enormous amount of time together and we have a lot in common."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Then how do you explain the fact that I've been friends with Ron and Hermione for years—and we have quite a lot in common—and I never once liked them as more than friends?"

Malfoy looked uncertain. "I don't know. I can't explain it." He then looked more determined as he glanced at Harry. "But I do know that you can't just ignore this."

Harry glanced at Malfoy's resolute expression and realized that he didn't want to ignore it. He didn't want to give up whatever it was that he and Malfoy shared. So Harry slowly stepped toward Malfoy, until they stood only a foot apart. They were very similar in height, so they stared straight ahead at one another, as though expecting the other to make a move.

Finally, Malfoy slowly brought his hands forward and gripped Harry's shoulders, bringing them both closer. Harry was reddening more than ever as his heart thudded quickly. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip nervously and noticed the distraction in Malfoy's expression as he watched Harry do it. Then, Malfoy ceased gripping Harry's shoulders, and instead brought his arms around him, and leaned forward.

Their lips were nearly touching, but neither made a move. Malfoy looked deeply into Harry's eyes, as though asking for permission. Harry stared back as intensely, but said nothing.

Malfoy smirked slightly. "Well, Potter? You've been rash around me before. You've never hesitated in hexing me. Is this any different?"

Harry smiled, his heart beating so fast it was nearly in his throat. "I think this is pretty different."

Malfoy wrapped his arms more tightly around Harry and tilted his head to softly press his lips to Harry's. At the touch, Harry tensed, but after a moment, brought his arms around Malfoy and pressed him close. Harry didn't expect the sensations that he felt—Malfoy's musky smell, the softness yet rigidity of his lips, and the warmth of his body pressed against Harry's. Hesitantly, Harry opened his mouth slightly as Malfoy's tongue ran over his bottom lip.

But before Harry could truly appreciate what was going on, they heard footsteps in the hallway outside the storage room striding very purposefully toward the door. Harry immediately pushed Malfoy away and the latter turned quickly. As the footsteps neared, Malfoy only gave Harry a brief look before turning to smoothly open the door of the storage room, both hoping they didn't look as flustered as they felt, knowing full well their faces were red.

Standing outside the storage room was one of the Aurors that Harry had seen leaving the castle with Ron earlier today. Harry recalled his name after several moments—Williamson. The Auror had a long ponytail, was quite tall, and wore a grim expression as his glance flickered between Harry and Malfoy.

"Harry," the Auror began. "You've probably heard about the excursion we made today to the Dark Forrest under Dawlish's orders."

Harry nodded, not knowing what could've happened to make him look so morose. It had taken him several moments to swim up from the experience he and Malfoy had just shared. "Did something happen?"

Williamson seemed to hesitate as he answered. "We were in the Forrest for some time, but we couldn't find any children or Dementors. So we began returning to the castle, when we passed by the Whomping Willow and a horde of Dementors flew out at us from some kind of passage under the tree. Ron was facing the front of our team, and they only seemed to be after one of us, so they grabbed Ron—"

"What?" Harry asked, completely stunned. "What do you mean they grabbed Ron?!"

Williamson looked grimmer. "That's exactly what I mean. The Dementors took him and flew in the castle's direction, but it was so dark by that time, we weren't sure exactly where they took him. We've been searching the grounds for over an hour. There was no sign of Ron or the Dementors."

Harry's face turned white. He was so shocked, he couldn't even think of what to say. It was one thing that the Dementors took victims that Harry hardly knew or had only spoken with several times. But it was quite another when his best friend was taken.

"You have no idea where he is then?" Harry finally asked.

Williamson shook his head slowly. "The other Aurors are still looking for him, but McGonagall plans to close down the school soon, so they can't be out for much longer—"

"She can't possibly still close down the school now! Not when Ron could be out there, trying to fight them off!" Harry shouted, surprised that McGonagall's original plan was still an option. "We have to find him, and before those creatures perform the Kiss on him!" Harry was very tempted to add, "If they haven't already," but decided to stay positive lest his anger get the better of him.

Williamson was silent, possibly because there was nothing for him to say. They had made no progress on finding out where the Dementors were hiding in the past five months. Ron could be anywhere.

Suddenly, Malfoy made a surprised noise and pointed toward the far end of the hallway. "Potter, look!"

Harry turned to look in the direction he was pointing and felt his insides freeze. From the end of the hallway, thin tendrils of fog were reaching out into the hallway, coming up from under a door. The temperature in the corridor suddenly dropped about twenty degrees as the fog spread throughout the hallway and Harry shivered.

"I don't believe this," the Auror at Harry's side said slowly. "Could they really be—"

"In the castle," Harry finished. "Just as we'd thought all along."

"But where exactly are they?" Williamson said, walking toward the spreading fog.

Harry immediately brought his hand forward to stop the Auror. "You don't know how many there are. I think it's too dangerous to go looking just yet."

"The fog is coming from Myrtle's bathroom," Malfoy said suddenly, sounding surprised at this revelation.

Harry looked down the hallway carefully and recognized the door to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. How could he have forgotten it? Ron, Hermione, and he had spent a great deal of time in that bathroom their second year, while brewing the Polyjuice Potion to trick Malfoy into telling them if he was the Heir of Slytherin. And most importantly, he couldn't forget that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets lay in that bathroom, etched into the only sink that didn't work. Of course, Malfoy also had little reason to forget the room, as he had come there many times his sixth year after toiling in the Room of Requirement with the Vanishing Cabinets.

"You're right," Harry said slowly. And the more he considered it, the more something familiar nagged in the back of his mind. He'd heard something recently that seemed very important now—something to do with bathrooms—

"Malfoy!" Harry said suddenly. "Do you remember when Hestia Paddock went missing—and Tracey told us that when she got upset, she often locked herself up in the bathroom? For hours?"

Both Malfoy and Williamson gave him an odd look, obviously not understanding the connection. Malfoy replied, "Yes. What about it?"

"What if on the day Hestia disappeared, she locked herself in the girls' bathroom? And didn't come out?" Harry said fervently, feeling that given this crucial clue about the fog coming from the bathroom, he now had it all figured out. "What if she _never_ came out?"

Malfoy's eyebrows knitted. "I don't understand. Why wouldn't she be able to come out of the bathroom?"

"The Chamber of Secrets! The entrance to the Chamber lies in Myrtle's bathroom," Harry stated. He noticed that both Williamson and Malfoy looked astounded by this fact, but Harry continued nonetheless. Explanations could be saved for later. "What if Hestia was in that bathroom when she got attacked? What if that's how the Dementors have been attacking everyone—through Myrtle's bathroom—through the Chamber of Secrets?"

Both Williamson and Malfoy looked stunned by this. But the more Malfoy seemed to consider it, the more his befuddled expression cleared and became grim.

"That would explain why it's been so cold in the Dungeons for months, ever after the weather improved in all other parts of the castle," Malfoy said, deep in thought. "The Dementors must have been in Myrtle's bathroom, waiting for either a victim to come in, or attempting to attack by coming out into the hallway itself."

The Auror seemed to be piecing it together as well. "All the victims have been girls, and all Slytherins. It all makes sense! Only Slytherin girls would've gone into Myrtle's bathroom, since no other House lives near the Dungeons."

Harry nodded. "Yes. And after the Dementors attacked Mafalda by coming out into the hallway, they realized that leaving the evidence behind would be too obvious. And they would be found. So instead they waited for the victims to come to them."

Malfoy's expression became bleaker. "They've been under our noses the whole time. Just down the hallway."

"Well, now that we know where they're hiding, and now that we have the poison and the antidote, we can kill them," Harry stated determinedly. "And find Ron."

Williamson had pursed his lips. "Something else is nagging at me though. I remember hearing that some second years saw fog in one of the passages into the castle a while back. Why would the Dementors be hiding in the Chamber of Secrets if there are also signs of them in other parts of Hogwarts?"

Harry noticed Malfoy's expression change as his eyes widened.

"That's because they're not only hiding in the Chamber of Secrets," Malfoy said slowly, piecing the clues himself. "They're using all the passages into Hogwarts."

His words caused Harry's stomach to drop and fill with dread. "You don't think—"

"They're hiding in all the Hogwarts passages. And I don't think they'll be hiding for long," Malfoy said resolutely. "I think they're planning an attack."

These words certainly didn't make Harry feel any better. "They could be anywhere then. They could be in that passage that led from Hogsmeade and the one that's in front of the witch statue. And even in—"

"The Room of Requirement," Malfoy finished. "There's a passage from Hogsmeade that leads to the Room of Requirement and it would only be too easy to hide in a Room as bewitched as that one."

Harry didn't think he could stand any more revelations. "In that case, we can't wait any longer. If they're really hiding in all parts of the castle, we need to be prepared for them, if they do attack, and before they can take any more victims."

"We can split up the team of Aurors to cover all the possible passages," Williamson spoke up. "And we'll set an extra lot by the Room of Requirement."

Harry nodded. "I think that's the best we can do. With all the Aurors guarding the passages, we can at least stop them from fully infiltrating the castle. As for the Chamber of Secrets, I have a feeling that that's where they took Ron. There's a passage that leads out of the Chamber and into the school grounds." He glanced at Williamson. "I think you saw the Dementors going toward the grounds when they disappeared into the passage into the Chamber. That's why they seemingly disappeared into thin air."

Malfoy gave him a sharp look. "So what do you plan to do about that, Potter? Go into the Chamber itself!?"

Harry returned his look with determination. "That's precisely what I'm planning to do. Now that the poison and the antidote are done, we can test them out in the Chamber."

Malfoy gave Harry an apprehensive look. "Potter, this isn't a game! This isn't Snape's Potions classroom, where you can just try something today, and if it fails, try again tomorrow. You could die trying to take on a horde of who knows how many Dementors!"

But Harry rounded on him. "Oh, really, Malfoy? Tell me something I don't know! I've been warned of dying about a dozen times in my life—how is this time any different?"

Malfoy pursed his lips and didn't reply. Harry could tell that he was genuinely worried, perhaps because Malfoy had never really considered the prospects of Harry dying until now. As they were faced with this very real possibility, Malfoy now finally realized the consequences of what they were getting themselves into.

Williamson looked between them and seemed to have nothing to add to that particular conversation. "I'll leave you two to figure out what to do about the Chamber of Secrets. In the meantime, I'll round up the Aurors and set up teams in front of the Hogwarts passages. By the way—you wouldn't happen to know exactly where they're all located? It's been some time since I've last been at this school."

Harry felt his robes pockets, until he found a large, folded piece of parchment, which he handed to the Auror. "That's the Marauders' Map. Tap it with your wand and say, 'I solemnly swear I'm up to no good,' and it'll reveal the entire castle. It'll show you where everyone at Hogwarts is currently located and it also has secret passages marked on it. Follow the Map and you should be able to find all the possible passages the Dementors could be hiding."

Williamson looked at the blank piece of parchment in wonder as he examined it. "That's bloody useful. Where did you get this?"

Harry chuckled. "It's exchanged too many hands to explain exactly how I got it. But I would appreciate it if you didn't lose it. Or give it away."

Stashing the parchment into his robes pocket, Williamson smiled at him. "Thank you, Harry. I wish you the best of luck in the Chamber. We'll do our best to cover the rest of the castle."

Harry nodded. "Good luck to you too."

Williamson left after that exchange, striding down the hallway hurriedly and purposefully. Malfoy and Harry stared after him for a moment, before Malfoy turned to Harry with a concerned look.

"Potter, do you really think this is all true? That the Dementors are hiding out throughout the castle and that they took Weasley into the Chamber of Secrets? This all seems rather farfetched."

Harry gave him a brief look as he strode back to the storage room. "Then how else do you explain everything that's happened? All the pieces fit—the fog coming from Myrtle's bathroom, the cold temperature, the victims all being Slytherin girls. There's too much evidence pointing to everything we've just come up with."

Malfoy followed him into the dim storage room and proceeded to scan his shelves for something. He seemed to accept that whether the ideas were farfetched or not, they needed to set into action if they planned to save Ron from the Dementors.

"We need to hurry," Harry said, as he crouched next to the cauldrons containing the poison and the antidote. "I don't think the Dementors will wait very long if they plan to Kiss Ron." Harry didn't want to admit just yet that Ron might already have been Kissed.

Malfoy had scooped up several vials from the shelves and was now pouring the black poison sludge into two vials and the milky blue antidote into another two. He capped them firmly and stood, scanning the room for anything else they might need.

"I think you should put your robes on," Harry remarked. "It's plenty cold in the Chamber, and it'll be even colder in the presence of Dementors."

Malfoy was still only wearing his button-down shirt, the cuffs of which he had pulled up. Looking surprised that Harry had even mentioned it, Malfoy said nothing and pulled his black robes on, his Slytherin emblem winking at Harry as Malfoy adjusted his robes. As Harry watched Malfoy do this, he wanted to reach forward and embrace or kiss Malfoy again, in case something happened, in case one of them didn't live. But there was no time to lose if they wanted to save Ron. Harry just hoped that there would be time afterward.

After scanning the storage room once more, they strode out the door and down the hallway, heading toward Myrtle's bathroom. The thin tendrils of fog were still spreading out from beneath the door, but the effect had lessened since the first time they'd caught sight of the phenomenon. The only sound in the long corridor was their hurried footsteps upon the cobblestone floor.

They neared the door to Myrtle's bathroom and felt colder, as now the fog was embracing their ankles. Harry pushed the door open, half expecting a Dementor to leap on him.

But the bathroom was simply cold and empty. The only unusual thing about it was the wisps of fog that were coming from the middle of the bathroom, where the sinks were located. The fog was languidly escaping from the cracks between the sinks and the plumbing, stretching slowly throughout the room. Harry and Malfoy neared the middle of the bathroom, both raising their wands to ensure that nothing caught them unawares.

"Harry!" a voice screamed from above. "Draco!"

Harry almost jumped out of his skin. They craned their necks to stare upward and noticed none other than Moaning Myrtle, sitting upon the ledge of a window and staring at them with a wide smile on her face.

"I'd been wondering when you two might come along." She batted her eyes at them. "It's been quite lonesome without either of you."

Before Harry or Malfoy could respond, Myrtle flew down toward them, her spirit as transient and translucent as a pane of glass.

"I could understand Harry not visiting, since he's been out of Hogwarts for so long," Myrtle said sadly, "But I'm surprised at you, Draco! Haven't I treated you well the last time you were here?"

Malfoy looked as though he didn't know if he should take her seriously.

Myrtle examined them more closely. "And the last time I saw the two of you together in here, you were nearly murdering each other. Or, at least, Draco looked like he was getting murdered."

"Myrtle, this is really not the time," Harry said, frustrated. "We need to get into the Chamber of Secrets to find the Dementors. We think that they have Ron in there."

Myrtle's expression darkened. "Oh, yes. Those foul creatures have certainly been skulking around my bathroom. And I'm frankly tired of all this cold and fog. I've been waiting for someone to do something about them."

Harry had just realized something at hearing those statements. "Myrtle—_you've_ been here all along, have you seen anyone get attacked by the Dementors?"

Myrtle looked at the two of them carefully and her expression became grimmer. "Yes. I've seen two girls—"

"Do you know what happened to them?" Malfoy interrupted, his expression seemingly pleading her to say they were alright and unharmed. "Do you know where they are now?"

Myrtle suddenly pointed straight forward, at the circle of sinks in the middle of the bathroom. "They were taken down there. I don't know what happened to them after that."

Malfoy's expression fell slightly, as though suddenly weighed down by truth he hadn't been able to accept.

Harry walked toward the circle of wash basins and examined them. The fog was still trailing out, but to an even lesser extent. Harry walked around the entire circle of sinks before he spotted the one he was looking for—the sink that had the image of a snake etched into it. He observed it carefully, as though expecting it to strike out at him, but it stayed put.

"How exactly do you get into the Chamber?" Malfoy asked, as he neared Harry and stood by the wash basins.

Harry had told Malfoy a few details about his excursion into the Chamber in the past several months, when they were brewing the potions. But he hadn't explained the technicalities.

"At the moment, I'm not sure," Harry responded.

Malfoy looked at him sharply. "What do you mean you're not sure? How the bloody hell did you get in last time?"

"I spoke Parseltongue to the snake in the side of this sink and told it to open."

Malfoy crossed his arms and gave him an expectant look. "So what's the problem? Do the same thing so we can get into that blasted Chamber already. Like you said, Weasley doesn't have all day."

Harry glared at Malfoy as he straightened up, having been examining the little snake etched into the sink. "The problem is that I no longer speak Parseltongue. After Voldemort died, some of the powers he'd transferred to me the night he tried to kill me went with him. So I'm no longer a Parselmouth."

Malfoy's crossed arms fell to the side at hearing this and his expression looked less impatient. "I suppose that _is_ a problem. How are we going to get in now?"

Harry placed his hand on the little snake, tracing his fingers over its coiled body. He had an idea, but he wasn't sure how well it would work. In their seventh year, during the battle at Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione had taken several Horcruxes to the Chamber of Secrets to use the dead basilisk's venom to destroy the items. And Ron had told him that he'd gotten into the Chamber by simply copying the hissing noises Harry had made when he'd spoken to the snake in Parseltongue.

Heaving a great sigh, Harry looked at the snake carefully and imagined its slithering body. He recalled the way he'd formed his lips in second year, as he'd stood in the same spot, and hissed in the snake's language. Now he parted his lips and not caring if he sounded stupid, began hissing at the snake.

After a moment of silence, when nothing sounded but the quiet drip of a faucet, nothing astonishing happened, and the snake remained immobile.

Suddenly, Harry heard a sharp intake of breath behind him. Malfoy grabbed Harry by his robes and pulled him backward, just as the circle of sinks began rearranging and pushing outward in all directions. Harry heard the grate of cement upon pipes as the sinks began descending into the floor and an enormous hole opened up in the ground, where the stand of sinks had been. The fog flooded the room with greater strength, flowing out of the hole, and Harry was assured that they were on the right track.

Malfoy stared into the black chasm with a look of bewilderment. "And to think that I spent so much time here sixth year and didn't even know this existed."

Harry neared the hole and kneeled down by it. He looked into the chasm, but couldn't see a thing, blinded by the ceaseless fog. Malfoy crouched down beside him and gave Harry an apprehensive look.

"I suppose we haven't come all this way to stop now," Malfoy said. "Who shall go first?"

Harry put his wand into his robes pocket, in case he lost it on the way down the pipe. "I'll go. I've been there before, so it's only fitting."

Malfoy gave him another worried look, but nodded. "I suppose telling you to be careful is out of the question. But be careful anyway."

Harry smiled and without thinking about it for another moment, leapt into the hole.

* * *

Ah, sorry for all these cliffhangers. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**A/N:** So, the penultimate chapter. Thanks for all your support thus far! The last chapter will be posted this Saturday, not Sunday, because I'll be traveling all day Sunday, from four in the bloody morning, and will have not Internet access. D:

And in any case, you guys deserve a quick update for being so kind with your reviews! :)

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

Harry had gone a long way down the pipe until he finally landed in a pile of rocks and debris. The fog was especially occlusive in these dark passages and Harry could hardly see anything five feet in front of him. He lit the tip of his wand to at least light up the darkness, but the fog was still pressing all around him. Harry took a few steps forward, slowly stepping through the debris. He remembered the last time he'd been in the Chamber and knew that he was currently stepping on rubble and the skulls of dead little animals the basilisk had consumed during its lifetime.

Harry heard the swishing sound of someone coming down the pipe behind him and stepped in a rightward direction to nearly avoid being hit by Malfoy as he landed in the Chamber. He heard Malfoy cough slightly at the dust he'd raised upon landing. Harry extended a hand toward Malfoy, whom he could see only due to their proximity and felt Malfoy place his hand in Harry's, allowing him drag Malfoy up into a standing position.

Harry pointed his lit wand at Malfoy to better discern his features. Malfoy was scowling and attempting to dust himself off.

"I can't believe the father of all Slytherins built this place. It's a pile of junk," Malfoy muttered.

"Well, this is just the passage for the basilisk. The real Chamber's still a ways from here."

Malfoy turned to stare at Harry through the fog. "Basilisk? There isn't still one, is there?"

"No. I already told you I killed it in my second year." Harry began walking carefully through the fog, in what he hoped was the right direction.

"Well, I was no longer sure if you were just showing off at that point or if you'd really done it." Malfoy followed behind him just as carefully.

Harry snorted. "I'm glad all those conversations we've had actually paid off. Now that I realize you didn't believe half of what I'd said."

But it didn't seem that Malfoy wanted to argue about these things, so he said nothing.

The two carefully walked through the rock and debris until they reached a closed door, made of slithering metal snakes. Harry touched the door's etchings and concentrated on the noises he'd made back in Myrtle's bathroom. Then he began hissing at the door. And just like last time, Harry drew back just in time to avoid nearly being hit by the swinging, opening door.

They crossed through the open doorway and continued walking, although this time the floor seemed to be made of cobblestone and wasn't littered with debris. Harry didn't recall seeing the large snake skin he'd seen the last time he was in the Chamber, but he supposed they had simply missed it, unable to see much in these passages.

The further they walked, the more Harry was filled with hopeless dread. If Ron had really been here for several hours already, what were the odds that he was still alive? Of course, Ron could produce a Patronus, but could he fight off five or ten or a dozen Dementors all at once? And for several hours at that? Harry only maintained the hope that they wouldn't arrive too late.

"So how exactly are you so familiar with Myrtle's bathroom?" Malfoy asked as they walked across the smooth cobblestone passageways. His voice came out in puffs due of the pure iciness of the Chamber.

Harry wasn't sure if he was up for idle chitchat at the moment, but followed along, if only to take his mind off the anxiety. "In second year, Ron, Hermione, and I needed a place where we could brew a potion and no one would find us. Myrtle's bathroom was perfect because no could stand being around Myrtle."

Malfoy smiled. "That's the same reason I went there sixth year. No one could find me either. What potion were you brewing? And why so secretly?"

Harry refrained from pointing out that he'd used his Marauder's Map to locate Malfoy at least a dozen times during their sixth year. "We were brewing a Polyjuice potion. And I think _that_ in its nature made it secretive."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose. "And who did _you_ need to turn into?"

Harry suddenly laughed, remembering why exactly they had used the Polyjuice potion. He told Malfoy about how they had suspected him to be the Heir of Slytherin and turned into Crabbe and Goyle to attempt to coax out answers from Malfoy.

Malfoy laughed after he'd heard this. "I remember that. I thought it was awfully strange the way Crabbe and Goyle were acting, especially the way they'd gotten angry when I insulted you and Dumbledore. And imagine my surprise when I found them sleeping in a broom closet without their robes on."

Harry chuckled. "I suppose that clears up a few things for you."

"Although, I must admit that at that time, I wouldn't have minded being the Heir of Slytherin. I was frankly insulted that most of the school thought _you_ were the Heir. And of course, it had just turned out to be You-Know-Who all along."

Harry said nothing, and after this exchange, they continued walking in silence, both lost in thoughts. The fog had thickened as they neared the end of a passageway. Harry could somewhat make out the shapes of large stone snakes lining the sides of the Chamber, their heads turned toward them as they passed.

Then, they entered the heart of the Chamber itself, where the passage was wide and high-domed on all sides and the large head of Salazar Slytherin loomed above them, its mouth forever closed as it no longer had the large snake inhabiting it. Harry examined all sides of the Chamber and spotted the tail of the basilisk, to the right side of the statue's head. He couldn't see its entire body due to the fog.

"My God, is that the basilisk?" Malfoy asked as he stepped forward to examine the long-dead serpent. He knelt down by it and very lightly touched its skin.

Harry was more concerned with other things. He paced around the Chamber in search of anything that might point out where the Dementors or their victims were. He walked closer to Salazar Slytherin's stone statue and spotted something dark lying right under the statue's nose. His heart began thudding loudly and quickly as he ran forward, toward the statue.

The closer he got, the more he could discern the shape. It was small and frail-looking and covered in black robes. Harry stepped close and finally caught sight of what it was.

Though he'd never seen her before, Harry instantly knew that he'd found Hestia Baddock. She was lying against the statue, much the same way they'd found Mafalda. Her eyes were wide open and blank. Her cheeks were hollow and her body thin, flanked by the black robes. Though Mafalda had been very much alive and breathing when she was found—Hestia was dead. She had been missing for weeks. And after the Dementors had absorbed her soul, they had simply left her there to die.

Harry felt dread fill him. His panic and anxiety became despair; all he could think was that they were probably too late and Ron was long gone. The ghastly image before him was burned into his mind and the longer he stared, the more hopeless he felt. And through all that hopelessness, anger ignited his fury at the Dementors and at his inability to again save an innocent child from being Kissed. Harry dropped down beside the girl and felt rage engulf him, unable to stop his emotions from surfacing.

"Potter!" Harry suddenly heard Malfoy call out from somewhere far behind him. His voice sounded panicked. "Potter, you'd better come here!"

Immediately, Harry got to his feet and followed Malfoy's voice through the fog, striding back to where the giant snake had been, raising his wand. The cold had completely settled into Harry's bones and he shivered unconsciously.

The closer Harry got to Malfoy's location, the better he saw him. Malfoy had raised his wand as well, which was lit at the tip, and was staring at something lying on the ground, behind the giant basilisk. When Harry approached, Malfoy turned and gave him an apprehensive look. His eyebrows had knit and he stared in alarm.

"Malfoy, what's going on?" Harry asked as he walked around the dead snake to look at the figure on the ground.

It was Ron.

And he lay sprawled out on the cobblestone floor, his forehead bleeding from a spot that had probably hit the ground when he was dropped. His eyes were closed and his lips parted slightly. His wand lay limply in his right hand, almost out of his grasp. His robes were dirty, torn in several places, and all color was gone from his face. The longer Harry stared at him, the more he was reminded of Ginny's cold figure lying upon this same floor eight years ago, under Voldemort's control, with her red hair radiating out onto the floor the same way Ron's shorter red hair was matted upon the damp ground.

Harry dropped down beside Ron and gently touched his hand. It was icy cold. And Ron looked immobile. Harry couldn't even guess how long he'd been there.

"He's still alive," Malfoy said from above him. "Look at him closely."

Harry examined Ron's face and noted that through his parted lips, a faint puff emerged into the air and his chest rose slightly, signaling that he was still breathing. That meant nothing, however, because his soul could be gone without him being dead. At this realization, Harry's rage increased, coursing his veins venomously.

Malfoy suddenly breathed in sharply.

"They're here."

At these words, Harry whipped around immediately and observed the direction in which Malfoy was staring intently. Three dark and hooded figures appeared through the dank fog, their cloaks billowing out as though caught in an unseen wind. The Dementors opened their mouths wide, splitting their faces into two equally distorted halves. The Chamber's chill intensified as the water upon the floor beneath them froze. Frost radiated outward over the floor, traveling like water spilled over the ground, quickly and in all directions until it reached Harry's and Malfoy's feet. The immediate cold was like a shockwave, circulating over the Chamber and freezing everything in its path. The darkness deepened as all light was extinguished from the Chamber and all that was left were the tips of Harry's and Malfoy's wands, pointed directly at the approaching Dementors.

Among these chilling effects, Harry also felt the creatures' hunger for happy memories. He stood up and stepped in front of Malfoy and Ron, knowing that the two could hardly defend themselves against the creatures. Harry became increasingly forlorn as his happiest recollections were sought by the descending Dementors, but knowing to expect it, he braced himself and dove into his mind for a happy memory.

The first one he extracted was a recent one—in fact, it had only happened an hour or so ago, though it felt much longer now. He recalled the feel of Malfoy's arms around his waist and his warm breath over his face as he leaned in. Harry's heart thumped louder just at the memory, which overshadowed the terrible memories that also attempted to surface. Harry raised his wand higher and pointed it at the pack of Dementors.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry shouted and felt the power of the Patronus leave his wand.

The blindingly white stag rose in front of Harry and like a wall, stopped the Dementors from coming any closer. The shield engulfed them, allowing them to feed off the stag instead of the Dementors' primary targets.

Knowing that they had very limited time before the Patronus failed, Harry turned toward Malfoy hurriedly and demanded, "Give me the poison, now!"

Malfoy's eyebrows knit in worry and frustration. "No, Potter! I should take it. This will be too much of a risk! You shouldn't—"

Enraged and frightful of what the Dementors could do, Harry stepped forward and grabbed Malfoy by the collar of his robes, shouting in his face, "Malfoy, this isn't the time to be a martyr!" He pointed toward Ron's still form on the floor. "That's my best friend lying there and I'll be bloody damned if I don't risk my life for him! The moment that Patronus fails, those Dementors will be on us and if we don't use the poison—nothing will save us! And I'll bet you anything these three aren't the only Dementors in here!"

Malfoy's expression had turned furious as he threw Harry's clenched hand off his robes collar. "Fine, Potter! Then you take the poison—but remember that you only have ten minutes before its effects are irreversible. You _will_ die if you don't take the antidote before your time runs out."

Harry stared at Malfoy's infuriated expression and realized that Malfoy didn't particularly want to take the poison; he only wanted to ensure that Harry survived the effects, and if that meant Malfoy would have to take it himself to stop Harry, then he would. But Harry was in the same boat—he didn't want Malfoy to die either—and he had other stakes to fight for, such as Ron's life.

So Harry simply extended his hand, palm upward. Realizing that he was serious, Malfoy glared at Harry before he finally dug into his robes pocket and pulled out one of the vials of poison, and handed it over. His expression became unreadable as Harry took the vial of black sludge.

Harry glanced at the stag shield and noted that it was beginning to break down. The blinding light was fading slowly, as the hooded figures became more visible by the moment. Harry had a minute, at the most, before the Dementors broke through the defense and rushed forward, fueled by their ferocity at being stopped by the Patronus.

Pulling the cork off the vial, Harry downed the glass of poison, not allowing himself to think any longer about the great danger he'd just placed himself in. The tar-like substance slid down Harry's throat and burned at the pit of his stomach. The toxin entered his bloodstream quickly and enflamed his veins, causing Harry to cringe in pain at the scorching fire that now coursed through his body. The agony was so great that Harry thought he'd lose his mind from the pain. It was worse than when he'd gotten stung by that stonefish—and he'd thought that was particularly agonizing.

The last light of the stag dissipated into thin air as the Dementors ate through the Patronus, and just as Harry had predicted, they sprang forward all at once to attack him. Harry had squeezed his eyes shut from the pain of the poison, and now opened one eye to stare at the descending Dementors. Their mouths were longer than he'd ever seen them. One skeleton-like arm stretched forward as the front-most Dementor grabbed Harry by his robes and dragged him forward, across the slippery, frozen floor. Harry hardly had the strength to fight back, so allowed himself to be hauled forward like a puppet.

At the Dementor's sudden move, Malfoy cried out, "Potter!"

But Harry twisted in the Dementor's grasp and glanced back to throw an infuriated look at Malfoy. "Get back! Don't come any closer or they'll come after you."

Harry then turned back toward the Dementor's putrid wide mouth and snarled, "This is between you and me! I know you can understand me—so take _my_ soul!"

He thought he detected a slight upward twist of the Dementor's mouth, as though it was smirking. Harry could tell that it was immensely amused that Harry had given himself up like this, as it descended upon him to place its gaping wide mouth over Harry's.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He was filled with fear and dread. All his instincts shouted at him to get out—he had no chance of living through a full-on Dementor's Kiss—he should run and get out of this horrendous place. But Harry planted his feet firmly on the ground and kept his wand at his side. He knew that if he attempted to escape the Dementor's grasp, it would rush toward Malfoy and Ron, who were defenseless behind him. The other two Dementors also appeared to be intrigued by Harry's willingness to give up his soul and were competing with the front-most Dementor to suck out Harry's memories.

Harry felt the onslaught of the three Dementors. The poison still ran very strongly through his bloodstream, but the pain paled in comparison to the agonizing pierce of the Dementors into his mind. He was completely exposed and unguarded as they invaded his memories and selected his happiest recollections, causing Harry to live through his worst ones. Harry felt the life drain from his body. His strength was quickly depleting due to the poison and the Dementors' attack. The front-most creature was clutching Harry with its skeletal fingers, excitedly sucking Harry's memories through his mouth. Through his fading senses, Harry felt himself be raised upward roughly until his feet no longer touched the ground, as though the Dementor was trying to get a good grip on him in order to complete the final step of the onslaught.

Harry's mouth was wide open upon the Dementor's and he was quickly losing awareness of what was going on. He heard and felt the Dementor suck in deeply and in another instant, Harry lost focus of everything, right before hearing a scream behind him.

Harry felt himself fall as darkness descended over him.

He fell until he felt and heard nothing.

* * *

Lol, I should really stop with these cliffhangers. Thanks for reading! Please review!


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**A/N:** Your reviews are so wonderful! And although I've gotten to reply to the signed ones and show you my appreciation, I'd like to give a special thanks to Tawny, who made me feel like this story was truly worth writing.

Thank you for the inspiration, everyone!

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

In another part of Hogwarts, a team of Aurors was standing anxiously and apprehensively in front of a very large door, in the middle of a long corridor. Williamson, the Auror Harry had spoken with about the Dementors, was standing in front of them all. Their wands were raised and ready. And although many of these Aurors were doubtful and unsure of everything Williamson had revealed to them, they had decided that at the very least, the theory was worth testing out. And if the Dementors did indeed reside in all the passages leading into Hogwarts, then this was their best shot at actually capturing them. And after long months of accomplishing and learning nothing, this was a welcome tactic.

Williamson addressed them all. "Alright, now according to Potter and Draco Malfoy, these Dementors have probably been hiding out in here for a while. Malfoy thinks that the Dementors will attack using all the passages into Hogwarts. Be cautious of any movement on this side of the door."

The grim-faced Aurors nodded their heads in unison. Williamson had the Marauder's Map stashed in his pocket and only used it furtively, so Harry's strange artifact wouldn't be taken to be something Dark or confiscated. Other teams were stationed throughout the castle, in all the locations indicated by the Map. Dawlish was leading another team of several Aurors in front of the witch statue Harry had pointed out.

The team in front of the Room of Requirement had waited an hour or so, but hadn't seen any signs of the Dementors. Presently, however, thin tendrils of fog were beginning to crawl out from under the Room of Requirement door.

"I don't believe this!" One of the Aurors gasped, pointing his wand at the mist.

Williamson narrowed his eyes and clutched his wand tightly. "I suppose Malfoy was right. They are indeed planning to attack."

Several minutes later, the entire corridor had filled with fog and suddenly, scratching noises came from the door to the Room of Requirement. The Aurors stood tensely, their wands raised and happy memories forming in their minds.

"Attack only when I call for it!" Williamson called out.

The scratching noises increased and coldness engulfed the corridor, flowing like water from beneath the door. Frost began forming at the cracks between the door and the hinges, as well as upon the handles.

"Get ready—" Williamson said rigidly.

And then, with the power of sudden attack, the door burst open and Dementors began streaming out into the hallway, their ragged cloaks billowing out behind them as they flew forward. Their wide mouths began sucking at anything in sight, hungry for life. They streamed out in packs, dozens of them stumbling out, one over the other, until—

"Now!" Williamson cried out.

And the corridor was only filled with the cries of _Expecto Patronum!

* * *

_

Harry opened his eyes slowly, first one and then the other. He heard a sharp intake of breath above him. His vision was blurry and all he could see was the splotch of blond above him, as well as a blinding light pointing into his face. He opened his eyes wider, but his vision didn't improve. The figure hovering over him moved slightly.

Something thin and wiry was thrust over Harry's face and Harry heard Malfoy's voice:

"Put them on and you'll see better. I'd forgotten how much you rely on those ugly things."

Harry was then aware of where he was. The cold ground under him was particularly hard and he was shivering. It was dark in the Chamber and the only light was the wand tip Malfoy was pointing in Harry's face. Harry moved his right hand to his face and adjusted the glasses Malfoy had thrown at him. His vision instantly became clear.

The first thing he saw was Malfoy's pale and pinched face staring at him. He seemed anxious and troubled as he examined Harry.

"I suppose you seem fine," he finally said. "I guess I administered it right in time."

Harry pushed Malfoy's wand out of his face and sat up, as his senses and memories returned. He looked around him, suddenly panicked and afraid that their poison hadn't worked and perhaps Ron's soul had been taken after all.

As he stood, Harry saw that the fog had dissipated slightly. The Dementors were gone but it was still as dark and cold as ever. He looked over and saw Ron still lying unconscious on the floor. The sight caused panic to swallow him up again.

"How is he?" Harry asked urgently. "Did they get to him?"

Malfoy shook his head. "No, we drove the Dementors away, as expected—"

Harry didn't wait for a statement beyond that one. He dropped down next to Ron and realized that though Ron hadn't been Kissed, his face was becoming paler and paler. The aftereffects of the poison and the Dementor's Kiss were still bitter on his tongue, but Harry had greater problems to consider. They had to get Ron to the Infirmary.

"We need to get out of here." Harry said decisively. "We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey. I only hope they didn't already take out his soul before we'd gotten here."

Malfoy nodded. "This should help."

He wordlessly placed a Weightlessness Charm on Ron and the two were able to drag him into a standing position. Malfoy pointed his lit wand in front of them so they could see through the fading fog and the darkness, while Harry dragged Ron's limp form through the Chamber passages, ambling back the way they'd first come.

Now that Harry's immediate concern over Ron's welfare had passed, he glanced at Malfoy as they walked. "So what happened with the Dementors? Where did they all disappear?"

"The Dementor Kissed you, as we expected it would," Malfoy said as he walked by Harry, his face pinched with worry. "But the poison didn't seem to take any effect at first. I had a timer on me and was counting down the ten minutes. You had passed out just after five minutes and the Dementors were still on you. I was worried the poison wouldn't work."

Harry huffed slightly as he carried Ron's form. "Well, obviously it worked if I'm still here."

"Yes, at about nine minutes after you took the poison, the Dementor was finally pulling out your soul, but instead of what you'd expect to see—the white little sphere that contains your entire entity—a black sphere emerged instead, which the Dementor swallowed up." Malfoy glanced into the dark shadows of the Chamber. "It screamed out and realized it had been tricked. It tried to go after me and Weasley, but it started disintegrating before it could even get close. Its entire body became flaky and turned into dust and it dropped to the ground, dying."

Harry listened quietly, then asked, "What happened to the other two Dementors?"

"Well, firstly—you were right. There were at least another dozen Dementors in the Chamber. They streamed out of the Chamber's caverns at hearing the Dementor die. They rounded on Weasley and me and I wasn't sure what to do. But it seemed like the mere sight of the dead Dementor put the nail in the coffin. The rest of the Dementors turned and began rushing out of the Chamber—"

"Out? Where?" Harry was astounded by this.

"I think they went back out to the Hogwarts grounds, through the passage they used to bring Weasley here. They're not in the Chamber anymore."

Harry was thunderstruck. He could hardly believe that killing one Dementor had resulted in scaring the rest of them off. He supposed they weren't stupid enough to hang around after one of them had been killed for the first time. They had probably considered themselves invincible, and now that one was defeated, the rest only feared the same fate.

Harry glanced back at Malfoy. "Then what happened? You said I was almost out of time when the Dementor finally Kissed me. I suppose you administered the antidote in time?"

Malfoy stared back at him and smiled slightly. "Well, obviously. I probably got you to drink that liquid in the last ten seconds that you had to live." His expression darkened. "It really was quite a risk. Another minute and you would've died."

"Then it's a good thing you were around to make sure that didn't happen." Harry looked at him seriously as well. "Thank you, Malfoy."

Malfoy glanced into the dark shadows of the Chamber. "Then I suppose my life debt was repaid. You saved me from the Fiendfyre in seventh year. And I saved you from a poison you willingly ingested."

Harry had never realized that Malfoy had considered that a life debt, but he supposed Malfoy would've died if he hadn't gotten him out of the Room of Requirement in time.

After trekking through the passages for a while, they finally neared the doorway of metal snakes that had required Harry to speak in Parseltongue.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Malfoy asked. "Coming into the Chamber wasn't difficult but getting out—"

"I think we'll do what the basilisk did while he terrorized Hogwarts," Harry said, huffing, both from the aftereffects of his ordeal, and from dragging the slightly less heavy Ron through the passages. "We'll use the pipes."

Malfoy turned and gave him a disgusted look. "Pipes? We're going to crawl through the plumbing until we find some toilet or bathroom from Hogwarts?"

Harry smiled. "That's exactly what we're going to do."

"How primitive," Malfoy muttered. "And I thought this is why we invented magic."

After Harry hissed at the metal door, it swung open and they were again in the debris-covered passageway that preceded the Chamber. He looked around it for a moment, able to see well since the fog had dissipated here the most.

"I think that's a good place to start," Harry said as he wandered to one side of the passageway that had a pipe leading into the wall and looked less steep than the one from Myrtle's bathroom, so they would be better able to crawl through it.

"Since it was _your_ brilliant idea, you can go in first," Malfoy crossed his arms as he neared the pipe Harry was eyeing.

Harry had gone through much worse things than having to crawl through bathroom pipes. So he readily clambered into the cement pipe, hauling Ron with him, and began crawling forward slowly and laboriously. After he had gone several feet, he heard Malfoy scoff and follow after him.

Their trek through the pipe must have taken at least half an hour, while the descent into the Chamber had probably only taken a minute. Harry had betwitched parts of the pipe to reform and create slight indentations, so he could climb upward, placing his hands in the indentations to get better grip of the steep pipe. Crawling behind him, Malfoy was cursing under his breath every several minutes. But Harry could hardly have expected otherwise from a Malfoy, so he ignored him. His primary motivation for crawling through the pipes was to get Ron to the Infirmary as soon as possible. Ron's face was becoming paler by the minute.

Finally, Harry saw the end of their trek and the entrance to the pipe, leaking light into the crevice. With renewed strength, Harry hauled himself upward and pulled himself and Ron out of the pipe.

As he stood up and stepped onto a wet, cobblestone floor, he noted that he was in some type of bathroom. Since most bathrooms looked alike, he wasn't sure in what part of the castle they'd arrived. Harry walked forward, still holding the less-weighty Ron by his side to make sure he didn't fall.

Behind him, Malfoy crawled out of the pipe, cursing and dusting himself off.

"Now where are we?" he asked sullenly.

"I think we'll only find out if we get out of this bathroom," Harry stated, as he walked awkwardly toward the entrance of the bathroom.

Malfoy stepped next to Harry and helped him carry Ron as they ambled out of the bathroom.

The first sign of where they were was the immediate sight of the giant doors to the Great Hall, just to their right. Harry smiled and walked forward.

"Everyone should still be in the Great Hall, since McGonagall had put them in there for the night. We should be able to find Madame Pomfrey without too much trouble."

They walked toward the Great Hall and as they neared it, Malfoy ceased helping Harry with Ron and stepped forward to open the great doors.

The entire Hall was dark and silent. It was probably early morning by now and of course, everyone was asleep. But by opening the wide doors, they had created a disturbance and from a corner of the room, a shadow began striding toward Harry and Malfoy.

As it neared, Harry recognized it as McGonagall, who looked incredibly upset, surprised, and apprehensive.

"Potter, Malfoy—what in heaven's name are you doing here at this hour?" she demanded. But then, at the sight of Ron's body hanging over Harry, she stopped and her eyes widened in shock. "You've found him?"

Harry nodded. "There's a lot to explain, Professor. Ron's alive, but I don't know if his soul is still intact. We need to get him to the Infirmary, quickly."

McGonagall nodded, pursing her lips. "I can't believe this. One of the Aurors told me the two of you were going into the Chamber of Secrets to look for Weasley. But I didn't believe it. I thought you were only wasting your time."

Harry smiled. "I think this entire situation is coming to a close. The Dementors now know they can be killed."

This caused McGonagall to stare in even more shock. "But how—"

Her question was interrupted by loud and hurried footsteps outside the Great Hall, striding purposefully toward them. Harry turned to see one of the Aurors, grim-faced and tired from performing so many Patronuses, walking toward them.

"Headmistress," he addressed McGonagall, not even looking at Harry and Malfoy, and Ron's form hanging off the two. "You must open the doors to the castle at once. The Dementors have broken into the castle through all the other passages and our Aurors are driving them down to the first floor. They will have to be expelled out of the castle, but you've locked all the doors—"

McGonagall didn't seem as though she could handle any more revelations in one night. "The Dementors are all in the castle?" she only asked hollowly.

Harry could see that the most imperative thing at the moment was to get the Dementors out of Hogwarts. "Yes, Professor. You must open the doors to drive them away. They'll only stay inside the castle if you don't."

"Very well," was all she said, as she turned toward the sleeping Great Hall and strode in an unknown direction.

The Auror that had warned her finally caught sight of Harry, Malfoy, and Ron. His eyes widened incredibly and he stepped forward to examine them better.

"Is he alive?" he asked.

"Yes, but we don't know if his soul has been taken out or not. I suppose he lost consciousness after the Dementors brought him to the Chamber," said Harry.

The Auror inquired about what occurred, and Harry and Malfoy explained the details to him. The more they talked, the more curious, sleeping eyes opened throughout the Great Hall, and students bundled in their sleeping bags awoke to listen to the ordeal Harry and Malfoy had gone through. Some of them did not simply pretend to listen, and stepped out of their sleeping bags and neared the four figures. Many of them were surprised at the sight of Ron Weasley, whom Harry and Malfoy had laid down on one of the sleeping bags.

Finally, McGonagall returned with several other professors in tow, including Argus Filch, who eyed Malfoy, Harry, and the Auror with confusion and distrust. They strode toward the giant castle doors and began opening them. The sound of metal upon metal filled the halls, as the creaking doors were unlocked and left wide open. The jarring sound of this action awoke the rest of the sleeping Great Hall. Students were wide awake and alert, and many of them had gathered near the entrance to the Hall and examined the situation. They stared at Ron's still form in shock and dismay. They looked up at Harry, Malfoy, and the Auror with shining eyes, not understanding what had happened, but knowing that Ron had somehow been found. Rumors of his disappearance had spread throughout the Hall despite the professors' attempts to hush them.

Suddenly, as Harry watched the great staircases that led down to the first floor, he saw dozens and dozens of dark, hooded creatures descending toward them. At the sight of this great horde of Dementors, the students screamed and many of them backed up and stumbled back into the Great Hall. The professors that had just opened the great castle doors backed into the hallways and stood back. The Dementors did not even attempt to linger and steal any of the many souls gathered by the Great Hall. They rushed out the door, flying into the cold night air, and not turning back.

The sight was truly incredible. The entire school was gathered on the first floor and watched as a stream of cloaked, dark Dementors rushed out of the castle, their great ranks flooding out like a great river. They did not pause and did not linger. Their sole purpose was to escape the fate that had become the Dementor in the Chamber of Secrets.

The students had ceased shouting in panic and were now quietly watching as the entire horde left the castle. The Dementors disappeared into the Forbidden Forrest, but Harry had the feeling that they wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts for some time. Not when the Potions Master had the poison that could wipe them all out. If they valued their survival, they would not return.

After all the Dementors had gone out, McGonagall and the other professors closed the doors once more, locking them up again for extra measure.

Suddenly, students gasped all around the Great Hall and Harry turned to see what had caused that reaction.

He saw Ron's still form on the sleeping bag suddenly roll over as Ron stretched and opened his eyes.

Caught in the gaze of dozens of students, Ron's eyes immediately widened and he gasped.

"What—what's going on here?" he asked in confusion.

Harry's face broke into a brilliant smile as he wove through the crowd of students and dropped down next to the conscious Ron. Before Ron could do or say anything, Harry hugged him.

"Harry, what happened? Why are we in the Great Hall? Last I remember…" but he trailed off, as though not remembering what he last remembered.

Harry released him and gave him another bright smile. "You were brought into the Chamber of Secrets by the Dementors you went to look for. Malfoy and I went into the Chamber, and using that poison we'd made, we killed one of the Dementors. The rest of the ones in the Chamber streamed out of the castle."

By now, the entire Hall was quietly listening to these revelations.

Though Harry realized that everyone was now listening in, he continued explaining what had occurred in the Chamber. He described the realizations he, Malfoy, and Williamson had made outside Myrtle's bathroom, the ordeal that had ensued in the Chamber, and their success in driving away the Dementors, at least from that part of the castle. Finally, Harry shed light on why these events had been occurring, and why only the Slytherin girls had been attacked, and how the Dementors now could be stopped.

Ron absorbed this all in silence and shock. "Bloody hell. Sounds like I missed all the good parts."

Harry laughed, glad more than anything that Ron was back, and that his soul hadn't been taken after all.

The students gathered around them had broken into whisperings and hushed conversations. One of the Gryffindor students approached Malfoy and looked at him questioningly and doubtfully.

"Did you really create a potion that can kill Dementors?" he asked.

Malfoy glanced down at the student and crossed his arms. "Yes."

"Blimey," the student said in wonder. "My mum told me that wasn't possible. There was no way to kill a Dementor other than to use a Patronus to shield yourself from it."

"Well, you can tell your mum that now it's possible. I've done it and I have the potion right here to prove it." Malfoy brought out the tiny vial of black sludge, still sounding defensive. Malfoy was obviously not used to being regarded as anything other than a callous, reformed Slytherin Death Eater.

The gathered students stared at him in awe, examining the little vial. Realizing that the students were genuinely regarding him with respect, Malfoy's closed expression loosened slightly and he smiled.

"It's actually not as simple as it looks," Malfoy stated. "The inner workings are quite complicated."

"Will you tell us how you've done it?" the same Gryffindor asked, his face shining with curiosity and excitement, forgetting that this was the Potions Master that made his students stay after class and look for Potions ingredients and chop them up for detention.

Malfoy suddenly smirked. "If you're willing to try a little harder in Potions, I don't see why you shouldn't be rewarded with learning how I've created this potion."

Harry watched as the students, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws alike, stared at Malfoy with newfound respect. The Slytherins smiled amongst themselves, probably glad that other Houses were finally beginning to take them seriously.

Ron glanced at Harry and raised his eyebrows. "I guess the git actually pulled through. So the potion you've been working on actually killed the Dementor?"

Harry nodded, glad to have Ron back. "Yes. Malfoy may be a lot of things, but he's certainly a good potion-maker."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Well, I suppose he's got to be good at something, if nothing else."

Not in the mood to argue, Harry simply stood up and examined the Great Hall, which was filled with students and professors alike that were caught in inspiring and happy conversations, glad that the great, dark shadow of the Dementors was finally out of sight.

Ron stood by Harry and said, "Some mission this was, huh? I'd better get a great paycheck after risking my life out here for five months."

Harry smiled.

"One thing's for sure. I don't want to have to produce another Patronus for a while."

* * *

The next day, Harry and Malfoy sat in Harry's sleeping quarters and talked over the events of the last few days. Earlier that morning, Harry had gone into the Chamber again with Madam Pomfrey and several Mediwizards from St. Mungo's to fetch the two unfortunate victims of the Dementors—Hestia Baddock and Tracey Higgs. Although Harry hadn't spotted Tracey when he and Malfoy had gone into the Chamber, they found her with relative ease, with the same hollow expression on her face as Hestia. Harry had looked away as the Mediwizards picked up the two girls and left for St. Mungo's. It was apparent that the only thing that could still be done for them was proper burial.

Harry had contacted Hermione through the Floo network earlier that day as well, after she'd spoken with Ron and found out all the horrors of the previous night's events. Hermione gushed with happiness that Harry was alright and was immensely impressed with the way Malfoy's potion and antidote had worked. In fact, she was quite curious about it, after finding out that it had worked, and wanted to know its exact details.

Harry was now lying on his four-poster bed and reading a front-page article from the _Daily Prophet_, which had a giant picture of Malfoy, Harry, and the rest of the Auror team plastered over a lengthy article describing the Aurors' triumph in solving the Dementor case at Hogwarts, using a potion that Malfoy had created. Though the article made several references to the bravery and skill of the Aurors in defeating the Dementors, it also raised points on Malfoy's role in fighting off the dark creatures.

Malfoy sat at the edge of Harry's bed and glanced out the window while Harry read. He had already absorbed the entire article and Harry supposed that though Malfoy wasn't showing it, he was immensely pleased to be recognized by the Wizarding world for something other than being a Death Eater.

After another minute, Harry folded up the paper and placed it on his nightstand.

"I can't believe it's over," he stated as he placed his arms under the back of his head as he lay and stared at the top of the four-poster bed. "It feels like I've been here for so long, that I can't head back to the real world."

Malfoy glanced at him, his face pensive. "I suppose now I'll have nothing to do in my spare afternoons after you leave. No dangerous situations to get myself into by going into freezing lakes or getting bitten by snakes." He smirked. "That's a lot to miss."

Harry smiled. "At least now you've gotten some respect from the other Houses."

Malfoy sighed. "While that's true, I don't think the rivalry between Slytherin and everyone else will go away this easily, despite the end of the attacks and Whitby getting sacked. There's still a lot of poison to be dealt with at Hogwarts. This was just a good start."

Harry sat up at hearing the tone in Malfoy's voice. "Malfoy, you've done so much for this school in the past few months. Give it time. Only that will erase your Death Eater status from everyone's minds."

Malfoy said nothing as he continued to stare out the window.

"What will you do with the Felix Felicis?" Harry suddenly asked, remembering their unfinished potion in Malfoy's storage room.

At that, Malfoy smiled slightly and glanced at Harry. "After these last few months, I think I could do with having a perfect day. Don't you?"

Harry smiled and leaned forward across the bed. "I don't think you'll need the Felix Felicis to do that."

Malfoy sensed the forward gesture in Harry's eyes. He turned and stared as Harry gave him an equally direct look. They both knew that a lot was still left to figure out about the relationship they had developed. Malfoy was stuck at Hogwarts as Potions Master. Harry was an Auror—and he would involve himself in many more dangerous situations after leaving Hogwarts. But for the moment, those considerations were left for another time. For now, there was a present to deal with.

Malfoy leaned forward across the bed and placed one hand on Harry's shoulder and stared deeply at him.

Harry didn't hesitate this time.

He wrapped his arms around Malfoy's neck, bringing him forward, as Malfoy crawled over the bed, pushing Harry back into the bedpost as he did so. The rather hungry, intense look Malfoy gave him made Harry's face heat up and his lips part. There was no longer any reservation between them. Their shared experiences had forged a friendship that spilled with relative ease into something more.

Malfoy pressed his body into Harry's, straddling him, and elicited a deeper blush from the latter. Their faces were inches from each other. Harry could count the rays of gray that radiated from Malfoy's dilated pupils. Harry reached up and tentatively, carefully, pressed his lips to Malfoy's neck, and slowly kissed down to the sensitive curve between neck and shoulder.

Malfoy shuddered.

And when Malfoy's lips parted, face flushed, Harry weaved his fingers through Malfoy's carefully-tended hair, and brought his face level to his own again.

And for the second time in two days, Harry pressed his lips to Malfoy's parted ones, this time eagerly, unreservedly, and with wild abandon.

Harry found that after years of animosity and rivalry—after Kissing a Dementor, kissing Malfoy wasn't so bad. In fact, it provided him with memories that would forever overshadow his callous past.

And that, Harry realized, he wouldn't trade for the world.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, so I'm really hesitant about that last romantic scene. Miss Crookshanks was kind enough to beta these last few chapters and suggested that I add a little more romance toward the end, so this emerged. I just hope it's not... sudden, or overly deviant from the rest of the story.

Anyway! Thank you so much to all my readers! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it! Although it's finally over, I would still love to know what you think, so please review!


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